


Strange Days

by SoftObsidian74



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: deflower_draco, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Masturbation, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftObsidian74/pseuds/SoftObsidian74
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something bizarre is happening at Hogwarts, people are changing. Except for Hermione Granger. She’s still the same annoying know-it-all. Hating her was supposed to be a constant, but Draco soon discovers that change has a way of catching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome Back

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Ultrasonicbop and Hollywoodlawn
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
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>  [](http://s289.photobucket.com/user/SoftObsidian74/media/StrangeDaysBanner2.jpg.html)   
>  [ ](http://s289.photobucket.com/user/SoftObsidian74/media/000ca7az.png.html)
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> Banners designed by RZZMG and Ultrasonicbop respectively

Soft hues of red, blue, and orange glowed from the full moonlight streaming through the stain-glassed windows. The ceiling twinkled with charmed stars as fresh-faced, frightened first years gathered near the front of the room. They jumped as laughter broke out across the Great Hall. Filch was making a spectacle of himself, hobbling about in a clumsy chase as Peeves flew just out of his reach. No, Hogwarts hadn’t changed. Not really. Oh, there were tiny scars, here and there, from the wounds of last year, but only the discerning eyes of those who were truly looking could see them. 

Draco watched his housemates warily as they made conversation. They’d all been acting rather strangely since the train ride. He’d caught Pansy _smiling_ several times. And not at him either. She was being quite friendly to everyone. Draco decided it was some sort of ruse, designed to lull the other students into dropping their guards for an attack later. But if Pansy was plotting, then Greg, Theo, and Blaise were all in on it, too. Greg had actually held a conversation with a Hufflepuff on the way in, and Draco had caught Blaise and Theo overtly flirting with a few Ravenclaws on the carriage ride from the train. It had to be trick. As Draco tried to figure it out, the new Headmistress rose from the head table to take the podium.

“Welcome back, everyone. In a moment, we will begin the Sorting Hat ceremony, but before we do, we need acknowledge a few distinguished persons in the room. First, I’d like to introduce two new professors: Mr. Dayle Brinkley, who will be teaching Potions, and Mrs. Veronica Green, who will teaching Muggle Studies. Please join me in giving them a warm welcome.”

There was a polite applause. 

“And many of you already know Professor Slughorn, who was kind of enough to accept the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts as well as the position of Head of House for Slytherin. We also have some other special persons returning to Hogwarts. For the first time ever, we have a unique class of seventh years, whom we will refer to as eighth years. These students are here to complete their studies and take their NEWTs. In addition to your Heads of Houses, Head Boy, Head Girl, and prefects, this group of eighth years should also be regarded as school leaders. They are a shining example of…”

McGonagall’s voice droned on — something about courage, bravery, and starting anew. It was all rather predictable, and Draco didn’t have to really hear the rest to know the old cow was already taking her new role as Headmistress far too seriously. 

He sighed quietly, looking to his right to see if anyone else was sharing his apathy. But Greg, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo were all staring ahead attentively, and he wondered why he had decided to return. He really didn’t have to sit for his NEWTs at Hogwarts. His mother had made arrangements for him to finish off his year at Durmstrang. Or he could have worked as an apprentice in an apothecary in France where his family had connections. But he had dismissed these options and accepted McGonagall’s invitation to return; only now, he had forgotten why exactly. 

He sighed again and scanned the rest of the room. Looking to his left, he spied Astoria, who was seated next to her sister. A shudder ran through him, and he quickly averted his eyes before she saw him looking at her. That’s when his gaze came to rest on a familiar figure seated at the next table over. 

Despite her status as a war heroine, Granger did not look confident at all. Her eyes kept wandering anxiously around the room, and her movements were awkward. Seated in between the Weaslette and Longbottom, she looked strangely out of place and lonely. 

In fact, Granger looked less like an eighth year and more like an anxious first year, especially with Weasley and Potter absent from her side. 

She definitely didn’t have the face or body of a first year though. Even from his side of the Slytherin table, Draco noticed the full swell of her bosom as she listened to McGonagall. He grimaced. 

What was he doing? Granger was the last person he’d ever want to touch, let alone see naked. 

Still, he was unable to look away, and stared openly when McGonagall specifically called out her name to recognize her Order of Merlin award. Granger straightened her shoulders and raised her chin, looking every bit the role model people thought her to be. Draco’s eyes drifted from her face to her neck. The scar from Bellatrix’s dagger was still visible. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring until he saw her brown eyes looking back him. He gave her a half-hearted sneer and quickly turned his eyes away. 

Inwardly, he cursed. It was bad enough to be one of only twenty or so eighth years that’d elected to return, but now, because of their small number, Draco would have to see Granger all the time. He had no doubt her presence would prove to be more annoying than ever. In addition to her show-offy, answer-every-question shtick, they now shared a strange connection. Intimate knowledge forged from a series of unfortunate events; he’d seen her tortured, and she’d seen him in full panic mode, running and scared out of his mind. Memories of the sympathy he felt while witnessing her suffer at the hands of his aunt and his own reluctant gratitude for her and her friends saving his life was going to make hating her really difficult. 

But things were already too strange, with Pansy acting friendly and Greg making conversation with Hufflepuffs. 

And with Vincent gone.

Draco frowned. Once again, his eyes returned to the bushy-haired Gryffindor sitting at the next table. It was time for things to get back to normal again. 

And hating Granger had always come naturally.


	2. Something Funny Is Going On

The first Monday morning back was always the worst. Accustomed to sleeping in for as long as he wanted, Draco felt like an Inferi as he sleep-walked up the stairs to breakfast. His energy was low, and an empty feeling consumed him. A few people tried to smile at him, only to think better of it when they saw his malevolent glare. He was in no mood to put on airs. 

The Great Hall was far too bright and noisy, and he grunted in place of simple pleasantries as people tried to make conversation. Everyone seemed unusually talkative, including his housemates, whose behavior was becoming more bizarre and annoying by the minute. He quickly finished his meal, wanting to get a head start to his first lesson, expecting that his friends would follow suit. They always did. 

But as he exited the Great Hall, Draco found that he was alone. No one was behind him. Too tired to care, he walked on. Within minutes, the hallways began to fill, and the noise level grew. All of a sudden, it was too loud again, and there were too many people brushing past him, some of them giggling. Who the hell giggled at 8am? A sneer formed on his lips, but they were all far too involved in their own conversations to give him a second glance. 

“Draco! Wait up!” 

Draco turned to see who was calling him. Greg was sprinting down the corridor as best he could since it was clear he was out of shape. He looked ridiculous, finally slowing his charge to a waddle, clutching a muffin with a huge grin plastered across his face. 

“Why are you smiling?” Draco demanded. 

Greg shrugged. “I dunno. It’s the first day of lessons. Guess I’m just happy to be back.” 

“Well stop it. It’s creepy,” Draco admonished as he continued to walk. 

The smile on Greg’s face quickly dropped, replaced by his usual dull compliancy. “Have you heard anything about the new Potions instructor?” 

“No, and really, who cares?” Draco said in a bored tone.

“I thought that was your favorite subject?”

Before Draco could reply, Greg began to laugh. Utterly annoyed, Draco turned to scold him, only to see that Blaise, Theo, and Pansy had finally caught up. They were all bright-eyed and half-smiling, while Theo gave Goyle a good pinching around his belly, all of which only served to irritate Draco further. Their behavior was really starting to give him the creeps. He let out an exaggerated sigh as Blaise began discussing the hazing ritual for Slytherin first years. 

“I think this year is going to be the worst one yet.” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes for all the gold in the world,” Theo agreed with chuckle.

Pansy snorted. “Oh, but it’s _supposed_ to be horrible, isn’t it? How else are the little firsties going to bond? Remember what they made us do _our_ first year?”

There was a brief pause as they all exchanged wide-eyed glances. 

The next second they exploded into gales of laughter. Even Draco had to join in as visions of a not-that-much-smaller Greg bending down to link lips with a shrieking, ickle Pansy, while the lot of them attempted to sustain a human kissing chain standing on one foot, momentarily made him forget that he was annoyed with his friends.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Advanced Potions was crowded, and Draco stared scrupulously ahead, sizing up the new Potions professor. A cheap, poorly cropped hair cut had mangled Dayle Brinkley’s sandy brown hair, and the well-worn pair of glasses seemed more like an obstruction on his face. At a little over five feet tall, his deficient height was made even more obvious by his ill-tailored robes. In Draco’s opinion, he looked more like an underdeveloped seventh year than a professor.

“And, uh, as many of you know, there are many uses for, um, Calming Draught. In several ways, it’s... it’s considered a miracle solution to, ah, a host of mental and physical maladies. Now then, let’s discuss its properties. Turn to page … uh, let’s see, wait a moment …” 

Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste at Brinkley's attempt to lecture. The man was incompetent, that much was clear. He had moved the Potions lesson from Snape’s old classroom to a new one, but hadn’t possessed the foresight to choose a larger space. Now both the seventh and eight years were seated on top of each other like a crowded bleacher at a Quidditch match. To make matters worse, he possessed none of Snape’s eloquence, confidence, or presence. It angered Draco to see such a buffoon standing in his former favorite teacher’s place. It was insulting.

“… Mr. Malfoy … Mr. Malfoy …”

Someone nudged Draco with an elbow, and then he heard Pansy whisper, ‘Draco!’

“What?” Draco replied brusquely.

The short man adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “Mr. Malfoy, please try to pay attention. I asked if you could, uh, name the main ingredient used to activate the base foundation for Calming Draught.”

“Poppy seed,” Draco answered in a bored tone. “The opium is essential to the activation process.”

“Yes. Very good, Mr. Malfoy, very good. Um, all right, now—”

A hand shot up from across the room, and Draco didn’t need to look over there to know whom it belonged to. 

“Yes, ah, Miss…”

“Granger.”

“Right, Miss Granger, do you have a question?” 

“No. I have an addition. Although Malfoy is correct, it should also be noted that kratom can be used as a substitute for poppy seed. In fact, under some circumstances it is actually the preferred ingredient because it’s less potent and addictive, which is especially advisable to those with Calming Draught dependence.” 

“Oh, right! Yes, that’s correct. Excellent point, Miss Granger! Ten points for Gryffindor”

Draco shot Granger a heated glare, and she tried to maintain an expression of attentiveness, but her gaze flittered across the room to meet his. She’d managed to tame her hair today, and if he wasn’t mistaken, her lips were pinker than usual. 

Why the hell was he staring at her mouth? 

Irritated that he would even notice such a thing, Draco gave her his most menacing sneer. Granger held his stare for a moment, but soon gave up, turning her attention back to Brinkely.

Draco continued to watch her as something inside of him stirred. Somehow he had managed to make Granger uncomfortable. He didn’t know how or why, but whatever it was, the promise of this new thrill made his pulse quicken.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Even before the next lesson started, Draco could sense that the atmosphere in Muggle Studies was going to be different. Just as the death of Snape had left a permanent impression on the school, the death of the former Muggle Studies professor, Chastity Burbage, had left a mark on her classroom. There were still pieces of her personality scattered throughout: pictures of her favorite Muggle inventors, some of them signed, and curious Muggle artefacts she’d collected floated in stasis against the walls like artwork. Even her brightly coloured collection of Muggle encyclopedias still sat ostentatiously on the bookshelf.

Sombre silence filled the room as the students waited for their new professor. As Draco’s eyes settled on the empty chair at the front of the classroom, an uneasy feeling seized him, making his skin crawl. He tried to swallow several times to rid his mouth of the bitter taste that kept coating his tongue. An unpleasant memory was pushing its way into his thoughts, begging to be replayed. 

‘No,’ he murmured to himself. He wouldn’t. He shut his eyes and gripped his desk, pushing his legs out and almost kicking the chair in front of him. 

Although he tended to sit in the front row in most classes, he’d wisely chosen to sit in the back of this one. Thankfully, no one had seen his little fit because most of the class was staring straight ahead at the empty chair. Most of them, it seemed, with the exception of Granger. Her big honey-brown eyes were looking right back at him. 

Draco frowned. Why the hell was she staring at him? And why was he just now noticing how peculiar and bright her eyes were?

He tried giving her a hateful leer, but she simply shook her head before turning back around. 

Draco’s fingers curled into half-claws as he flexed his knuckles, his eyes focused on the bird’s nest that was her hair. Was that pity he had seen in her eyes? What a joke. If anyone was pathetic, it was Granger, with her need to show off and outshine everyone. What an annoying little cu—

“Good afternoon, everyone,” said a light, cheery voice from seemingly nowhere and everywhere at once. Everyone in the classroom looked up and around, trying to find the source, and startled gasps erupted when it started to speak again. 

“Welcome to Advanced Muggle Studies. The first person who can identify how I am projecting my voice will win ten points for their House.” 

Both Theo’s and Granger’s hands shot up immediately. 

“How about the young gentleman in the second row. Please introduce yourself.” 

Theo sat up straight, puffing out his chest. “My name is Theodore Nott and I’m an eighth-year Slytherin.”

“All right, Mr. Nott, for ten points, please tell me how I am projecting my voice.”

“I assume you’re using some sort of Muggle contraption,” Theo said confidently.

Draco rolled his eyes and several people sniggered at the decidedly vague answer. 

“Well, yes, that is correct. Do you know the exact name of the contraption?”

Theo looked to his housemates for help. Everyone shrugged and Draco gave him a ‘how the hell would I know’ look.

“I’m sorry, I don’t,” Theo finally admitted. 

“Ah, too bad. Perhaps the young lady in the first row with her hand up could tell us. Miss Granger, I believe?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good. Now, Miss Granger, what would you say the answer is?” 

“I think you are using an intercom. Like its forefather, the Muggle telephone, the intercom is an intercommunication system. But unlike the telephone, the system projects sound out by using a microphone connected to a set of speakers, only I’m not quite sure how, since items that run on electricity don’t work here.” 

“Correct, Miss Granger! Ten points for Gryffindor!”

Draco zeroed his eyes in on Granger. Even from behind, he could tell by her posture that she was feeling pretty good about herself. A small growl rumbled in his throat, and to his satisfaction, she shifted in her seat nervously, glancing back at him. 

“The intercom is one of many Muggle inventions that wizards have either enhanced or used as inspiration to create new spells that can perform the same function,” the mysterious voice said. 

“For example,” came an echo that was twice as loud as the previous voice. “The intercom inspired Albus Dumbledore to create the Sonorous spell … and Miss Granger, you are also correct that it usually runs on electricity. I, however, am using an ionizing spell to isolate electrons, much in the way a Muggle battery does, in order to run this particular machine.” 

There was a collective gasp as their new professor emerged from behind the curtain on the left side of the wall with a wand in one hand and small black stick in the other. Tall and brunette with a stout frame, the new Muggle Studies instructor looked like she could have been Professor Sprout’s younger and more attractive sister. 

“Hello, everyone! As Headmistress McGonagall mentioned last night, my name is Vanessa Green. I am a Muggle-born and Hufflepuff through and through. Barring the last two dreadful years, for the past decade I have worked within the Ministry as a Liaison for the Muggle Relations department. And it is my pleasure to join the Hogwarts staff this year as your new Muggle Studies professor. 

“I would like all of you to know that we at the Ministry thought very highly of Professor Burbage. She was a brilliant woman and a kind soul, and she will be greatly missed. I will not attempt to replace her, but I hope to continue her work here. 

“Now that you know a little more about me, I’d like to get to know each of you. Starting with Miss Granger, would you all please stand and introduce yourself. Tell us a little about yourself, your experience with the Muggle world, and what you hope to learn from this class.”

Draco was aghast as he gaped back at Professor Green. Was this woman for real? He had absolutely no interest or experience with anything related to Muggles, and the only reason he was enrolled in this course was because it was now required of all Hogwarts students, every single year. The Ministry’s new agenda included more education and appreciation for Muggle society. They believed that it would cultivate more understanding and empathy, thus preventing the rise of another Dark Lord. But in Draco’s opinion, forcing Muggle facts down their throats would only increase levels of enmity within certain groups of wizards. 

As expected, Granger stood up and delivered a soliloquy, setting the standard for the rest of the class. Everyone after her did their best to try and impress the new teacher with their answer, giving speeches of how valuable they thought the course was and how much they wanted to learn. When it came time for Draco to speak, he refused to play Granger’s brown-nosing game, and kept it as brief as possible.

“I’m Draco Malfoy, eighth-year Slytherin. I’m a pureblood and have no experience in the Muggle world. My interest in this course is to pass it,” he said, taking his seat.

Mrs. Green gave him cheerful smile anyway. “Well, Mr. Malfoy, I certainly appreciate your honesty. And I hope to expand both your experience and interest in all things Muggle.”

_Fat chance._

“For today’s lesson, we will be discussing Muggle technology. Please turn to page twenty-two in your textbook. But, before we begin, let’s have a little fun, shall we? Mr. Malfoy …”

The class looked back at him, and Draco’s eyebrows rose in question.

“Based on your knowledge of the wizarding world, what would you say is the most important Muggle technology used by wizards?”

Draco narrowed his eyes, trying to measure whether this woman was picking on him or just a genuine nuisance.

As he thought of everything in the castle, his home and the homes of his friends, he drew a blank. Did it matter anyway? Once a wizard touched a Muggle object, his magical ability improved its usefulness tenfold. 

The question was stupid. 

“I don’t know,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.

Granger’s hand shot up. 

“Here we go,” Draco said under his breath.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“I would say the single most common Muggle technology used by wizards is the quill.” 

“Interesting choice,” Mrs. Green said. “Please explain.”

“Well, writing is a basic form of communication, used by virtually everyone, which makes the quill not only one of the most widely used Muggle tools, but one of the earliest.”

“Good point,” Mrs. Green said, looking impressed.

“Rubbish,” Draco muttered not-too discreetly.

“What was that, Mr. Malfoy? Do you disagree?” Mrs. Greene asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” Draco said confidently, staring at Granger, who had turned her head to look at him once again. “The quill is not a Muggle invention.”

“It’s well known that Muggles began using quills to write in the year 700 A.D.” Granger insisted.

“According to whom? Their history books?” Draco shot back.

“Well, yes,” Granger said, her voice faltering a little.

“And they never lie, right?” Draco sneered. “If wizards had invented the quill, Muggles would never acknowledge it.”

“Well, no wizarding text lays claim to inventing it, either,” Granger argued. 

“It doesn’t matter. _Wizards_ improved upon it. I doubt a Muggle could make a quill write by itself or perform displaced magic.”

“Malfoy, you’re missing the point. Yes, wizards improved upon the use of the quill, but that doesn’t erase the fact that Muggles invented it. The same can be said for a number of objects used in the wizarding world, like the clock, for example. Additionally …”

Draco glared at Granger in contempt while Mrs. Green smiled on as her new pet gave a lecture on Muggle objects. 

When Granger was done, she looked back at Draco with a challenge in her eyes, daring him to dispute her points.

“Mr Malfoy, do you have a rebuttal?” Mrs. Green asked. 

“Yeah, I do. Who’s teaching this class, you or Granger?” Draco blurted out. 

“Pardon me?” Mrs. Green asked, her friendly face turning stony. 

Draco tightened his jaw. This was not a good way to start off the term, but it was already out. “Sorry, but while I appreciate Granger’s vast knowledge on all things Muggle, it would be nice to have one lesson where the professor didn’t rely on her so much. You know—where they actually taught for a change.”

“Mrs. Green, on behalf of the class, I’d like to apologize for Malfoy’s behavior,” Granger quickly interjected. “This is his usual disposition, especially towards anything that has to do with Muggles and Muggle-borns. He’s a bigot.” 

“Actually, this is my usual disposition towards anything that has to do with Granger.” 

Granger narrowed her eyes. “Which is why I will refrain from engaging in further debate with you.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Granger. We all know your mouth has a mind of its own.”

Granger scowled. “Which means I outnumber you in brains two to none!”

“That’s enough!” Mrs. Green exclaimed. “I will not tolerate this type of childish bickering in my classroom. Both of you may excuse yourselves immediately. Take it to Headmistress McGonagall. I’ll let her know to expect both of you shortly.” 

Draco cast an evil glare at the woman and then turned it on Granger, whose face was flushed with embarrassment as she rose. 

_Good, serves her right._

At least he’d got under her skin. That alone was worth a detention.


	3. It Gets Worse

Draco let Granger walk two steps ahead, uncomfortable with the idea of having her behind him or beside him. He fingered his new wand in his robe pocket, frustration brimming as he remembered once more that Potter still had his old one. 

Potter. The savior of the wizarding world was out gallivanting with Weasley, doing public relations work in a cushy Ministry job while awaiting the next Auror trials. Suddenly Draco felt foolish. He didn’t even have to be here. Both Potter and Weasley had been wise enough to move on and start careers, while Draco thought he could prove to himself and others that he was strong by returning. Now he was stuck here, putting up with Granger’s overbearing voice in nearly every lesson.

They waited for a few minutes in front of the gargoyle. When it leapt aside, they watched as the wall split into two, revealing the spiral staircase carved in stone.

Granger stepped on, and he followed reluctantly, three steps below her. As the staircase rose, he tried to prepare himself for the verbal lashing McGonagall was sure to deliver. The old biddy had never liked him anyway, and he could already picture how this was going to go. 

When they arrived at the great oak door, he heard voices and immediately became suspicious. Who else was in there? Slughorn? A prefect? Just how much trouble were they in? He watched as Granger took hold of the griffin-shaped doorknob and pushed the door open. As soon as they entered the Headmistress’s plush circular office, Draco froze, completely gobsmacked. A life-sized portrait hung behind McGonagall’s desk, the scene a rustic looking pub, and seated together at a low wooden table were his former Potions instructor and the enigmatic old man he’d once been ordered to kill. They laughed about something and clicked their firewhisky glasses over the game of chess sitting between them.

The words “Hello, Professors” almost slipped off his tongue before he caught himself. Portrait Snape turned to give him a slight smirk and approving nod, and to Draco’s satisfaction, the man’s smirk turned into a frown when he laid eyes on Granger. Dumbledore, on the other hand, gave both of them a friendly wink and raised his glass in greeting. Draco gave the man a small nod in return, relieved to see there was no resentment on his face. 

McGonagall cleared her throat loudly, snapping Draco out of his trance. “Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, please, have a seat.” 

Reality came crashing back as he saw her peering at him over the rim of her glasses.

“Would either one of you care to explain why Mrs. Green excused you from class and sent you to my office?”

Draco stiffened, then looked sideways, waiting for Granger to do her “Granger” thing. She didn’t disappoint, leaning forward instantly to begin a long rant. 

“Headmistress, I really don’t know why I’m here. I didn’t do anything. I was simply answering a question when Malfoy started in on me, arguing unnecessarily. And then he made some rude remarks directed at both me and Mrs. Green. I was only trying to apologize for his behavior and set him straight about his attitude.” 

“I see,” McGonagall said. “And does setting Mr. Malfoy straight include calling him a brainless bigot?”

“He is a brainless bigot!” Granger insisted, but to Draco’s satisfaction, bright red splotches had bloomed across her cheeks.

McGonagall shook her head. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in both of you, especially you Miss Granger. I thought that last year would have cultivated a greater level of maturity and good will towards all of your classmates.” 

“I’m sorry, Headmistress,” Granger said with a guilty expression. “I will try not to let it happen again.” 

“See that it doesn’t. I would think that you would want to set an example, since you are highly regarded by many here.” 

Draco smirked. It was fun watching Granger being scolded. 

“Mr. Malfoy …”

Draco’s smirk faded and he bit the inside of his lip as McGonagall set her old eyes on him. 

“It seems you are still carrying around a great deal of animosity towards Miss Granger, which I find rather disturbing. Especially in light of everything that has occurred. Is there a slight that needs to be addressed? If so, let’s hear it and settle it now.”

Draco gripped the chair, his entire body tensing as he looked past McGonagall to the portrait on the wall. Both Snape and Dumbledore were watching the scene with interest, and he could feel Granger’s eyes on him. He really didn’t want to see her impression of an unassuming hurt victim. 

Did he even need a reason to insult her? She was Granger, best friend of Potter, insufferable know-it-all, a Gryffindor and a Muggle-born. Everything he hated. But no, that wouldn’t do anymore. The Dark Lord had proved that blood obsession was stupid. Still, it wasn’t so easy to divorce himself from a lifetime of learned behavior and begin regarding all witches and wizards as equals. Besides, apparent equals or not, she was still Granger, and that was all the reason he needed.

Finally, Draco tore his eyes away from the portrait to look at the new Headmistress. 

“No. There’s no slight, Headmistress. I just don’t like her. Sorry.” 

“Mr. Malfoy, that’s simply not good enough. Fifty points will be deducted from each of your Houses for today’s behavior.”

Granger gasped and Draco grit his teeth. 

“That is not all. As eighth years, both of you are expected to be role models. I shall leave it up to Mrs. Green to decide exactly how you can begin working on doing a better job of that. In the meantime, neither one of you are to cause any more disturbances in her class, nor in any other Hogwarts classes. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, Headmistress,” they said in unison.

“If I see you two back here again for the same reason, you’ll wish you hadn’t returned. You are dismissed.”

They walked out together in tense silence. Draco couldn’t even look at Granger as the stairs twisted down to drop them off. Insulting her for sport had somehow taken a turn for the worse. Now there would be punishment involved! He was so incensed, it barely even registered when she turned abruptly to face him. 

“Malfoy, I don’t know what your problem is. And I really don’t care. I just want to get through this year and be done with it. No fighting, no arguments, no duels. Can we at least try to be amicable towards each other? There’s no reason why we can’t be civil. The war is over, everyone is trying to get on, so let’s just bury the hatchet,” she said, extending her hand. 

Draco frowned, staring down at her invitation. There it was, right under his nose, rearing its ugly head again. That unnatural politeness, the ridiculous effort to be friendly to people who had never been, nor should have been, friends. It was a sickness spreading like Fiendfyre throughout Hogwarts. Draco was sure his friends had caught it, and now it seemed, so had Granger. 

He’d be damned if it infected him, too. 

Draco pulled his lips into a cruel smirk. “How about this, Granger? If you agree to keep that big mouth of yours shut for the rest of the term, I’ll agree to be more civil.”

“Malfoy, that doesn’t even make sense!” 

“Neither does shaking your hand and agreeing to be nice to you. Here’s some advice: Stay out of my way!” he said, brushing past her to make his way back to the dungeons.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Draco took his time heading back to the Slytherin dorms. He was brooding. The look on Granger’s face at his rejection of her proposal had offered a brief moment of satisfaction, but it wasn’t enough to cheer him up.

And when entered the Slytherin common room, his mood went from bad to worse, as that bizarre feeling of being among strangers returned. 

Pansy and Millicent were laughing and talking to Greg. They had never even given him the time of day before, and now they were all chatting and laughing together like close chums. Blaise and Theo were talking to some sixth and seventh years. Apparently, they’d traded in their aloof personas for more cheerful dispositions. It was ill suited, Draco decided as he looked around at the lot of them. 

“What’s going on?” he demanded as he stepped into their circle.

They all paused to look up at him with confused expressions. 

“Nothing, we’re just relaxing,” Greg said. “Hang about for a minute, will you?” He patted the seat next to his leg. 

Draco looked down at Greg suspiciously. The boy had never dared to give him orders before. But Draco slowly took the seat anyway, keeping his eyes on the rest of them. 

“That was a nice ribbing you gave Granger today,” Blaise remarked.

“Yeah, the look on her face was priceless,” Theo said, laughing.

Draco smirked, basking in his achievement. “I have to make sure Miss High and Mighty doesn’t get used to her pedestal. Without Potter and Weasley around, it’s going to be open season on her.” 

He looked around, expecting to see agreeing head nods and smiles, but instead, his statement was greeted with silence. They were all averting their eyes, looking to the floor or at each other awkwardly.

“What?” Draco asked.

Greg shifted in his seat. “Uh, I don’t know, Draco. I mean, it was funny and all, but uh, well …”

“What Greg is trying to say,” Blaise said, interrupting, “is that poking fun at Granger is great for a laugh once in a while, but it’s really not on anymore. Things are different now.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Draco said, his irritation rising. “People think just because she has a bloody Order of Merlin that her shit doesn’t stink. She’s still Granger. She’s still a know-it-all stick-in the mud.”

Theo and Blaise exchanged a look that Draco had no idea how to read. 

“What?” he demanded.

“Geez, Draco, relax, will ya?” Theo said. “You’re right—Granger is a little uptight. But she did help Potter and Weasley destroy the Dark Lord. That’s pretty wicked if you ask me.”

“Well, no one asked you, Theo!” Draco snapped. “Will you listen to yourself? She also helped put half your fathers in Azkaban!”

“Our fathers did that all on their own,” Theo shot back.

Draco looked at Theo in disgust. “Either you guys are up to something, or you’re all going soft.” 

“We’re not going soft…” Theo insisted.

“So what are you up to then?” Draco asked.

Theo looked around at the group in confusion. “We’re not up to anything.”

“Oh, you’re up to something, I just haven’t figured out what it is, yet. Between you sticking up for Granger and Greg here making friends with Hufflepuffs… Hufflepuffs! Something is definitely rotten. And Blaise, since when do you smile? When I look at you now, all I see are teeth!”

“Draco…” Pansy interjected. 

“Pansy, don’t even get me started on you,” Draco said, leveling a disgusted look at her. “You’re the worst, saying ‘hello’ to everyone, and smiling like you’re running for office. And we’ve all seen you making eyes and flirting with that seventh year Ravenclaw Mud—Muggle born, Patrick Cline.” 

Pansy shrugged. “He’s cute.” 

Greg turned his head and covered a smile while Blaise sniggered. 

“Your father would kill you,” Draco admonished, but Pansy just waved him off with her hand.

Theo shrugged. “What’s the big deal anyway? Now that the war is over, we have to adjust to the new world order. Like you said, my dad is in jail. So who cares what he thinks. In fact, I have my eye on a few Muggleborns. Ravenclaw is looking pretty sweet this year.”

Blaise nodded with a smirk. 

“What is wrong with all of you?” Draco asked, appalled by this new consensus. “You sound like a bunch of freaks! Next thing you know, you’ll be organizing an interhouse party so you can hold hands and sing songs about unity.”

Millicent gasped, and Pansy turned to look at her. They clasped each other hands as their eyes grew wide with excitement.

“What do you think, Pans?”

“I love it!” Pansy said, turning to Draco. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

Draco cringed as terrible realization set in. 

“What do you guys think?” Millicent asked the rest of the group.

Greg gave an approving nod, while Blaise scratched his chin in contemplation.

“Aw, come on!” Draco said in exasperation. “You can’t be serious! We’re Slytherins, for Salazar’s sake — we have a reputation to uphold!”

“I like it,” Theo said. “Draco’s right. We do have a reputation. McGonagall has made that more than clear.” 

Blaise sighed. “She’s definitely holding a grudge.”

“Which is why an interhouse party would be a great way to boost our image,” Theo said. “It’ll get us back on her good side, and it’ll also give everyone a chance to get to know each other better, if you know what I mean.” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

Greg and Blaise gave each high fives, an act that Draco had never witnessed before. The entire scene was unfolding like a horrid nightmare.

“So … should we have it here?” Millicent asked.

“No, the common room is too small,” Pansy replied. “We need a bigger venue, like the Great Hall!”

“Nah, I say have it here, invitation only,” Theo said.

“Well, that would defeat the purpose, Theo,” Pansy argued. 

Draco stood up, unable to take anymore. They didn’t even ask him where he was going as he strode out, or call him back; they were much too engaged in their new project to notice.

If he hadn’t witnessed the whole bloody inception for himself, he would have thought the idea to be a prank. Slytherins planning an interhouse party? The irony of it all made him want to choke.

Something was definitely spreading through Hogwarts, and Draco was determined not to catch it.


	4. Please Kill Me Now

As the week wore on, more of Draco’s housemates signed on to help plan the interhouse party. But Draco was determined to boycott the idea, which meant discouraging such discussions and excusing himself as soon they started. He focused instead on doing the exact opposite of what everyone had suggested and giving Granger a hard time whenever he could. Taking the mickey out of that know-it-all was actually becoming the highlight of his day. And the harder Granger tried to ignore him, the more inspired Draco became. 

By the time the next Muggle Studies lesson arrived, the tension between them was even thicker than before. 

Mrs. Green jabbered on animatedly about some Muggle invention, and Draco stared ahead, thinking of new ways to get under Granger’s skin. It really did pass the time quickly, and before he knew it, people were gathering their things and leaving. Mrs. Green asked him and Granger to stay behind. 

They stood at the front of the classroom while Mrs. Green perched herself on the desk. “Well, Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy, I appreciate your improved attitudes in class today. McGonagall has informed me you are both sorry for what happened and are ready to get along.” 

“I will do everything I can to be cooperative,” Granger said, her eyes darting to Draco, who didn’t respond at all.

Mrs. Green’s eyes stayed on him as she spoke. “Good, because for your punishment, I have decided that I would like for you both to work on a project together.”

Draco tried not to roll his eyes, but it was very hard not to with Mrs. Green staring back at him with that smug look on her face, like she was really teaching him a lesson or something. 

“I believe both of you represent the very essence of this course. The traditional wizarding world,” she said, extending her hand towards Draco. “And its ties with the Muggle world,” she said, extending a hand towards Granger. “My goal in this classroom is to show the interconnection between the two. I want everyone to leave this course with a better understanding about the way the Muggle world and the wizarding world have influenced each other.” 

Draco glanced over at Granger, who nodded like a good teacher’s pet.

“Therefore, your assignment will be to give a presentation demonstrating how each world has shaped the other, with an emphasis on their positive contributions. Now, do you have any questions?”

Of course, Granger did. 

“When you say presentation, do you mean a simple talk? Or would you like for us to have visuals and artifacts as well?” 

“Oh, either sounds lovely, Miss Granger. You two have free reign here. I want you to use your imagination. But most of all, I want you to work together, as a team.” 

“When is it due?”

“Let’s say the week before you go home for Christmas holiday. I think it would make a wonderful gift to the school,” she said, beaming.

“The school?” Draco asked in surprised.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy,” Mrs. Green replied. “You and Miss Granger will be presenting this before the entire school. I was thinking perhaps at dinnertime, so everyone can benefit from the knowledge you share.”

Draco closed his eyes. This couldn’t really be happening, could it? 

“Is there a problem?” Mrs. Greene asked with a steely edge in her voice that told Draco there was only one answer she wanted to hear.

“No, of course not,” Granger responded quickly.

“Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco finally opened his eyes. “No.” 

“Good. Well, you two had better get started. I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with. Good luck,” Mrs. Green said, her warm smile returning. 

“Thank you, Professor,” Granger said, looking at Malfoy expectantly. 

Draco had to tuck in his upper lip to keep from saying something he’d regret as he quickly turned to leave. A dull ache had been pounding at his temples, and by the time he hit the door and entered the hallway, he could feel a scream building inside his throat. It was bad enough he had to work with Granger on a project, but now he would be forced to humiliate himself in front of the school with an arse-kissing speech about how great Muggle society was. This was bullshit! He needed air. He had to leave this oppressive castle, and quickly, before he hexed someone.

“Malfoy!” 

Draco kept walking. If Granger knew what was good for her, she’d leave him alone. He kept his pace, hoping to Salazar she wouldn’t do anything foolish, like try to catch up to him and have a conversation. 

“Malfoy!” 

“What?” Draco practically roared as he turned around. “What do you want?” 

Granger stopped abruptly, clearly taken aback. “I just wanted to—” 

“Discuss the project?” Draco interrupted.

“Well, yes,” she said, pushing a stray lock from her face.

“And create a time line for how we’re going get it all done?”

Granger nodded slowly, regarding him with a wary expression, as if she was waiting for the axe to fall. “That sounds good.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “And then I bet you want to go over who does what and agree on when and where we’re going to meet?”

“Yes, exactly!” she chirped, visibly relaxing her guarded posture. 

“Tell you what, Granger. How about you figure it out and send me an owl when you’re done.” 

Granger pursed her lips and put her hand on her hips in that bossy stance she always got when talking to Weasley. If Draco weren’t so irate, he would have laughed right in her face.

“You’re going to have to pull your own weight on this project, Malfoy. We’ll split our responsibilities evenly.” 

“Fine,” Draco conceded through gritted teeth. “But I really don’t want to talk about this right now, so if you’ll excuse me…” He turned away from her and resumed his march to the exit. 

“Oh, stop being such an arse!” Granger yelled. “I’m not going to put up with any more of your crap this year!” 

Draco turned back around, one eyebrow raised. 

Her face was red and twisted in chagrin. “I’m going to be at the library this evening after dinner, and if you’re not there, then I’ll just assume you’re ditching your responsibilities.” 

“So?” Draco shrugged. “What are you going to do then, hmm? Run and tell Mrs. Green?”

Granger crossed her arms and smirked. “No. I’m going to tell everyone what we both already know.”

Draco scrunched up his face. “And what would that be?”

“That you’re too intimidated to work with me. That you’re afraid I’ll show you up, and your fragile little ego just couldn’t handle it.” 

Draco’s mouth dropped open, and before he could come back with a retort, Granger walked past him, the slight brush of her shoulder nearly knocking him over.


	5. The Only Constant

“OK, I’m here,” Draco announced upon arriving at the library table where Granger had set up for study.

Granger looked most unimpressed. “Well, sit down then and open up your textbook so we can get started.”

Draco threw down his bag as he took his seat. “Let’s get something straight: I don’t care how smart you think you are. You aren’t a professor, and you’re not going to be bossing me around. Got it?”

“Malfoy, if you would like for me to treat you like a colleague, then act like one.” 

Draco glared at her as he searched for something to use as an insult. Unfortunately, her wild brown curls had been tamed, but only slightly, they were still springy about her head, which only emphasized those big eyes of hers, and the light sprinkle of freckles across her nose. Too bad her teeth had been shrunken, those made for good jokes. She still had a noticeable overbite though. That had to be why her lips seemed overly plump. Damn it! He was staring at her mouth again.

Granger straightened in her seat, like one about to say something important. “I have an idea that should make things easier for both of us. I’ll work on gathering information about wizarding contributions, and you can work on gathering information about Muggle contributions. It’ll limit how much we have to talk.” 

“That’s absurd. _I_ should be the one gathering information about wizarding contributions, not you.” 

Granger took a breath and began speaking slowly, like one would talk to a child. “Malfoy, the purpose of this assignment is for you to learn more about contributions from the Muggle world. I am already well versed on both societies, so if I were you, I would take this opportunity to expand my knowledge.”

“I don’t need to expand my ’knowledge’,” Draco said, throwing up air quotation signs. “I just need to get this done. And we certainly would get a lot more done if we worked together.”

“What are you up to?” Granger asked with a skeptical look in her eye. “Earlier today, I had to coerce you into working on this project, and now, I make a perfectly reasonable proposal that would limit our communication, and you’re arguing with me.” 

Draco let out an aggravated sigh. “I’m not up to anything, Granger. Aren’t you the one that proposed we stop bickering and work together?” 

“Yes, but—”

“Well, now _I’m_ cooperating, and _you’re_ the one trying to worm your way out of working with me!”

“That’s not it at all. I just thought—”

“You thought that you could come up with a clever way to avoid talking to me. Are you scared I’m going to make you cry?”

Granger laughed. It sounded rather forced. “You don’t scare me, Malfoy. I just don’t want to put up with any more of your vitriol. It’s obvious you’re oversensitive.”

“Right, like anything you do or say affects me,” Draco said.

“If that were true,” Granger retorted, “we wouldn’t be in this mess, now would we?”

“We’re in this mess because I’m the only one with the bollocks to say what everyone else is thinking—you talk too damn much!”

Granger gave him a patronizing pout. “Aww, what’s the matter, Malfoy, do I make you feel dumb?”

“No, you sicken me,” Draco said with a sneer.

Her lips thinned. She raised a finger to point at him, about to deliver her reply when Madam Pince appeared out of nowhere, startling them both. 

“Lower your voices or leave!” 

“Sorry,” Granger said, dropping her hand with a blush. 

Draco didn’t apologize, but he looked away from the woman’s reproachful glare and opened his book. 

Unsure of whether they were sticking with Granger’s original plan or now doing their own thing, he made two separate columns: one for Muggle contributions and the other for wizarding achievements. After ten minutes, it became evident the book was biased in favor of Muggles. 

“What a load of cack.”

“Why do you say that?” Granger asked. “Is it because you’re finding that Muggles have made more contributions than wizards?”

“It’s not true, you know. This book is more propaganda than anything.”

Granger rolled her eyes. “If you really feel that way, then find another book to back up your argument. Otherwise, it won’t go into the presentation.”

“Says who? You?” Draco challenged.

“Yes!” Granger said emphatically. 

Draco scoffed and closed the book, signaling he had no intentions of following her lead.

“Look, I’m tired of arguing with you,” Granger said wearily. “Just find evidence for your claims or shut it.” 

“Both of you shut it and leave!” Madam Pince said, startling them once more. Draco looked at her in confusion, bewildered. Where had the old shrew come from? Had she been spying on them?

Granger looked absolutely horrified as the woman stood firm and pointed in the direction of the exit. “I’m sorry, Miss Granger, but I gave you fair warning. You’re both welcome to come back individually and study alone, but not together. I simply cannot have this sort of disruption in my library. Now please, leave.” 

Red faced with shame, Granger quickly gathered her books while Draco stood up slowly and packed his bag, giving the old woman a nasty sneer as he walked past to follow Granger out into the hallway. 

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Granger said angrily. 

“That wasn’t my fault,” Draco exclaimed. “That old bat is completely mental. There’s hardly anyone in there!”

“I can’t believe I just got kicked out of the library!” Granger lamented, covering her face. 

Draco watched her warily, fearing she was about to burst into tears, but then she did something even worse— she punched him in the arm.

“Oww! How dare you assault me! I should hex you!” Draco said, withdrawing his wand. 

Granger didn’t even flinch. She simply scowled and continued to walk. “This year is turning into a nightmare! Not only have you managed to ruin Muggle Studies for me, but now the professor thinks I’m some sort of blabber mouth who can’t shut up.”

Draco tilted his head. “Actually, that’s pretty accurate.”

“And now you’ve managed to get us both kicked out of the library!” she said angrily. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life, and this is all your fault, Malfoy!”

“Don’t blame this on me, Granger! It takes two to tango.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” she whined. “What have I done to you? It can’t just be that I’m a Muggleborn, because there are plenty of other Muggleborns at this school and you don’t pick on them half as much. And don’t give me that rubbish about me being a know-it-all. I know there has to be more to it than that.” 

Draco stopped to give her a long fixed stare, because she needed to hear him loud and clear. “Wrong, Granger. That’s exactly why I don’t like you. You always have to answer every bloody question. And if you can’t, you have to add something to someone else’s answer! Why can’t you just let someone else be right for a change?”

“I knew it! You’re jealous of me.” 

Draco raised his hands to his face, balling his fists in frustration. “I’m not jealous of you! Get this through your thick skull—You. Are. Annoying!”

Granger studied him for a long moment, and Draco clenched his wand, ready for her to strike out. He definitely wasn’t going to let her sucker punch him again. 

“You’re lying,” she said like one who had solved a riddle. 

“What?”

“You’re lying,” she repeated. “If you only insulted me once in a while, perhaps I’d believe you. But since we’ve returned, you’ve been relentless. There are a few people at this school who annoy me, including you, and you know what? I do my best to avoid them. But you … you’re always trying to get a rise out of me. You won’t leave me alone.” 

Draco turned away. The knowing look in her eyes had the effect of a Sectumsempra, cutting through his bullshit to reveal the jumbled mess he felt on the inside. His arsenal of retorts and insults were useless against the exposed flaw in his rhetoric. 

“You’re right.” 

“What?” Granger asked, clearly flabbergasted at his response.

Draco forced himself to look at her again. “I said, you’re right. The reason why I give you such a hard time is because … it’s fun. I enjoy it.” 

Granger’s mouth dropped open and her cheeks grew red with indignation. “That’s horrible! I’m not here for your entertainment! “

“I didn’t say you were!” Draco blurted out. “But arguing with you is the only normal thing left at this god-forsaken school.”

Granger’s face scrunched up in confusion. 

A sense of relief and defeat hit Draco as soon as he heard himself vocalize what he’d been feeling for the past few weeks. He sighed in resignation. “Listen. I don’t hate you, all right? I mean, not really. I don’t really like you either. You are annoying, condescending, uptight, overbearing, and—”

“Malfoy!”

Draco took a breath. “What I’m trying to say is that as much as you get on my nerves, I’m glad you haven’t changed, because everyone else I know has.” 

He stopped speaking then, holding his tongue, afraid to let it loose for fear he’d say something else stupid. Why was he telling Granger all of this anyway? 

When she tilted her head and smiled, Draco grew anxious. And then, his worst fear was realized when her smile broke into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded.

She shook her head and raised her hands to her cheeks, as if trying to contain more laughter. 

Finally, she answered him. “What’s really strange is, I completely understand what you mean, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”

Surprised, Draco had to know more. “So you have noticed, then? How people are acting?”

She nodded. “Yes. Being overly polite. And friendly. Just yesterday, Pansy said hello to me and smiled. She actually smiled at me. I thought she was up to something.”

Draco shook his head. “The really scary thing is that I don’t think she is.” 

“And what’s up with Goyle?” Granger asked. “It’s like he had a personality transplant or something. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect Polyjuice at work.” 

Draco sniggered. “At least I know I’m not going crazy.”

“No, you’re not. I see it, too. But at least Slytherins have a good motive.”

Draco remained silent, curious to hear what Granger thought their motive was exactly.

“Soon, the school year will be over, and everyone will have to start looking for jobs. It’s a lot easier to get a job when you have connections. And its public knowledge that most of their connections are either dead or in Azkaban.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Draco said, secretly impressed with her perceptiveness. Somehow knowing his housemates had ulterior motives for being nice sat much better with him. “But I think they’re taking it way too far, smiling and flirting with everyone. It’s disgraceful.”

“Well, it’s not as if they’re the only ones. It seems like most of the Ravenclaw girls are falling head over heels for Slytherins. And I’ve seen a fair number of Hufflepuffs eyeing Goyle.” Granger shuddered. “Not to mention, Neville has been spending an awful lot of time with that Hufflepuff, Hannah, and Seamus has been making flirty eyes with someone in your House.”

Draco leaned in. “Really? Who?”

Granger’s eyes darted to the side, and then she whispered, “Elizabeth Motley.”

Draco could feel his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. He wouldn’t have ever guessed Finnegan to fancy Motley. 

Granger stared off past him, as if in deep thought, and Draco stared down at her, noticing once more how unique her brown eyes were. They had flecks of gold in them and he found himself wondering how they’d look in the sun.

Her eyes shifted then to look up at him, and he felt completely stupid for speculating on such a thing. 

She licked her lips nervously and then blinked and looked away, giving Draco a chance to tear his eyes away from her. 

“You know, it’s not the worst thing that could happen,” she said softly. “It’s actually sort of nice.” 

“It’s bizarre,” Draco argued.

“Yes, it is a little strange,” she said. “It’s as if they all had a meeting this summer before we came back, and—” 

“We weren’t invited,” Draco finished.

She nodded, a small smile on her face.

Draco didn’t know what to say next, so he looked at the wall behind her, waiting for her to break the silence. But she didn’t. And as they stood there in the hallway, the silence began to stretch out uncomfortably, making Draco painfully aware that the weirdness they had just been speaking of was occurring right now. He had to end it.

“Look, Granger, I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “Maybe the elves are slipping something in our food, or that clumsy wanker Brinkley dropped a vial of Amortentia. What I do know is that, whatever it is, I don’t want any part of it. I just want things to be like they’ve always been.” 

Granger gave him a quizzical look. “So you want to continue arguing with me, then?”

“Well, yes,” Draco replied. “ _That’s_ normal.” 

Granger shook her head, and Draco expected her to lecture him again, but instead she quirked a smile and said, “OK.”

“OK?”

“Yes. Just don’t do it in class. And no Muggle-born slurs or jokes.” 

Draco held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine.”

Granger was looking back him strangely, a half smile and question on her face. “In the meantime, let’s figure out another place for us to study. See you around, Malfoy.” 

“Yeah, see you around,” Draco murmured as he watched her walk away.


	6. Out of the Blue

Draco walked back in a daze, shocked as well as intrigued by what had just transpired. It was ironic really. The one person he’d always disliked was now agreeing to disagree with him in order to maintain normality. 

There was a certain amount of mutual respect there. They both recognized something was wrong at Hogwarts and wanted to guard each other against it. 

Although he now realized he didn’t really hate Granger, he knew it would be bloody fun pretending he did. Just the thought of having permission to insult her and freely trade barbs gave him something to look forward to. 

After he said the Slytherin password, the door creaked open and laughter spilled out, dampening his mood once more. 

“Definitely spin the bottle. We need to keep this interesting.”

“There’s no way McGonagall is going to allow that! Besides, it’s dangerous. What if one of us gets a third year?”

“That’s why we should do this invitation only!” Theo insisted.

“Or we could have one party for the school, and then hold a more intimate gathering afterwards in our common room,” Blaise suggested. “That could be invitation only.”

“That’s a lot of party planning. Just talking about planning one is tiring,” Greg said with a sigh as he lay back on the couch.

“I’m sure we can get help from the other Houses for the larger party,” Pansy said. “But let’s talk about this after-party. Who would we want to invite?”

“Seventh and eighth years only,” Blaise said quickly.

“Wait a second,” Theo said. “There are some rather mature sixth years here. I see no reason to exclude them.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be talking about one particular sixth year, would you, Nott?” Millicent asked pointedly. 

Everyone turned their eyes to Theo, whose face had turned a bit pink. “And what if I am? She’s hot.”

“If you’re talking about who I think you are, you should remember that she’s also Muggle-born,” Draco interjected. They all looked up in surprise, just now noticing his presence. 

“So what?” Theo said. “You’ve seen her. We’re not talking about getting married here. If we’re going to play kissing games, I want kissable people participating. And those lips were made for snogging.” 

Draco’s face wrinkled in disgust. “That’s gross, Theo. Everyone knows they taste different … dirty, even.”

“That’s not true,” Blaise said, and they all turned their heads to stare at him, waiting for him to divulge exactly what he knew and how he had come to know it.

But Blaise simply smirked. “Trust me. They don’t.”

Theo smiled. “I don’t know what they’re supposed to taste like, but I intend to find out.”

“All right then, let’s make a list. All seventh and eighth years, with only a few select sixth years.”

“I know who I’d like to pick ...” Millicent began.

The conversation resumed and Draco sat on the outside of it, watching his housemates discuss who they wanted to invite, and who they wouldn’t mind kissing. He recalled the speech his father had given him his fifth year about keeping to one’s own. If Blaise was right and Muggle-borns really didn’t taste any different, Draco had to wonder what else his father had lied about in his desperate attempt to keep him from mingling with the wrong sort.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

They met in the old Potions classroom to study. Although Granger disliked being in the dungeons, she’d reluctantly agreed it was the most under-used and under-rated study space available.

Draco sat in the back of the classroom, waiting for her and becoming aggravated as he checked the door and the clock on the wall for her arrival. He hated waiting for people, especially for someone like Granger. Who the hell did she think she was? They had an agreement!

“Hello …”

Draco’s head snapped to the left as she entered, and he gave her a cool expression, his eyes returning to his book.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Green delayed me,” she said, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

Draco looked up at her curiously. “Oh? What did that old shrew want?”

Granger rolled her eyes. “She’s hardly old, Malfoy.”

“She’s not young either.”

“If you must know, she asked how our project was going,” Granger replied.

“Oh, and what did you tell her?”

She smirked. “I told her you were becoming more manageable.”

Draco snorted and Granger actually smiled. A flutter passed through his stomach. Something had changed. Draco didn’t know what it was, but he found it both exciting and distressing. 

But then Granger took a seat across the aisle from him, as if she didn’t want to sit too close. The flutter in his stomach turn to stone and his previous excitement disappeared completely. 

He noisily opened up his book, carelessly flipping through the pages. He was irritated, not really because Granger didn’t want to sit next to him, but because it bothered him that she hadn’t. What the hell was happening to him? Was he catching _it_?

Mad at himself, Draco tried to focus on a good insult to initiate their new agreement. 

He looked to his side, scoping for something about her appearance today to use as ammunition, only to find her staring at him. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, Draco was caught in a snare. He didn’t know what to do; he was supposed to be insulting her, but something had shifted. And with the memory of their truce hovering over him, trying to insult her for sport suddenly felt false, silly even. 

Granger broke their staring first to look back at her book. “Not that I expect it, but have you done any work on the assignment yet?” 

Draco blinked as things snapped back into place. Granger was trying to stamp out the weirdness and start their new game. 

“I’ve been a wizard all of my life, Granger. You want to know something about wizarding contributions? It’s all in here,” he said, tapping his temple with his forefinger.

She looked at him doubtfully. “So, in other words, you haven’t done anything. All right, well I have. And after reviewing the material, I think it’s safe to say there are three major categories we should cover: technology, art and culture, and spirituality.”

“What about philosophy?” Draco asked.

“Oh right, let’s group that with spirituality. Now to make it manageable, I think we should pick three to five major things in each category and then cross-reference it to examine where the influence can be seen.”

“That’s not a bad idea, Granger,” Draco said, trying not to sound impressed. “And to think you came up with it all on your own, without relying on a book.” 

Her eyes hardened. “Are you trying to say I’m not really smart? That I depend entirely on book knowledge?”

Draco shrugged. “It’s hard to tell, because you always have your nose stuck in one.” 

“Ah!” Granger said, smacking her forehead. “That must explain why I think you’re an arsehole—your head is always stuck up your arse!”

Draco tried to hold in a snigger as Granger smirked back at him. The strangeness that formerly occupied their space had completely dissipated. Draco scooted his chair back and propped his legs on the desk in front of him. 

“What are you doing?” Granger asked.

“Trying to get comfortable,” he replied, putting his hands behind his head. “Now, let’s get started, shall we? How about you call out some so-called Muggle inventions, I’ll tell you exactly how the wizarding world improved upon them.” 

Granger gave him a weary look. “Fine, and then we’ll switch, and I’ll tell you how the Muggle world utilizes wizarding influences to create something unique of their own.”

Draco scoffed. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

Granger straightened, and pulled out her book, which to Draco’s dismay was carefully marked by brightly colored tabs. Evidently she’d come prepared. 

“Let’s start with the broom, invented in 1453.”

Draco looked at her in amusement. “And as we all know, Muggles don’t possess the brains or ability to use one properly.”

“Malfoy, we wouldn’t even be able to use brooms as a mode of transportation if they hadn’t had the intellect to invent it.”

Draco shrugged. “Just because Muggles invented something, doesn’t mean credit can be given for their contribution. It doesn’t matter if the thing exists if it doesn’t serve a useful purpose. For instance, take the comb or brush. Sure, it’s helpful to some, but for people like you, those instruments are obviously completely useless.”

Granger scowled, which tickled Draco greatly. 

“But I see you’re now making use of _wizarding_ means to tame that hair of yours. And as expected, it’s much improved. It’s about time.”

She gave him a fake smile and returned to flipping through her book. Draco watched as she smoothed her hand over her hair self-consciously before tucking it behind her ear. She was wearing little diamond stud earrings. Funny, he’d never noticed them before, but now they stood out, bright as day. They were as plain as her ears. Which was odd because there was nothing plain about the rest of her. Granger was an unusual little witch, with a freaky amount of knowledge in that brain of hers, all covered by her frightening hair, which happened to be not so frightening today. And then there were her eyes. He’d only recently noticed their hue. They weren’t just muddy brown but also—

She turned to look at him again with a puzzled expression. “What?”

Draco swallowed, feeling foolish for having been caught staring. What in the world was happening here? He had to get a grip and stop it, whatever it was. 

“Nothing,” he said, his voice cracking a little. “Just waiting for you to continue with your little list.”

“Let’s switch,” she said. “Call out something from the wizarding world, and I’ll explain how it’s influenced the Muggle world.”

Draco threw up his hands. “I could call out a million things wizards created. I doubt Muggles have used or even heard of a fraction of them.” 

Granger pursed her lips in frustration. “Malfoy, are you telling me you can’t think of one Muggle object that may have had a wizarding influence?”

“No, I don’t really know or care what Muggles use. Besides, I’m pretty sure whatever you pick, it will just be a wizarding invention that Muggles claim as their own.”

“So what if they are? It’s still a perfect example of the two worlds influencing each other.”

“I’ll tell what’s wrong with that. We have to take a class to learn about how Muggles influenced us. Do you think there are any Wizard Studies classes in Muggle schools? They benefit from our magic and won’t even acknowledge it. Most of them don’t even believe we exist because we have to hide among them.” 

Granger shrugged. “Perhaps that’s the burden of having extraordinary power. Sometimes you have to show humility in the face of ignorance.”

Draco scoffed. “What you call ignorance, I call arrogance.”

“Look who’s talking. You’re as arrogant as they come,” Granger threw back.

“There’s nothing wrong with being proud,” Draco said, raising his nose a little higher. “However, there is something wrong with taking credit for something you didn’t do.” 

“How would you know?” she asked. “You sit in judgment of Muggles, and you don’t even know one. You haven’t even ventured out of your little wizarding bubble. And you’re wrong; there are Muggles who acknowledge magic and use its influence in everyday practice.”

Tired of going back and forth with her, Draco simply shook his head and stared straight ahead. He could hear her flipping through her book again, no doubt to prove her point. He heard her stand up, and she walked over to him, holding the page to his face. 

“Here, read this.”

She was standing close. Too close really. He could smell her. He’d never really smelt her before. Her scent reminded him of something he couldn’t immediately grasp. But like tiny fingers, it stroked a deeply buried memory, rousing nostalgia. He tried to concentrate on the page, his eyes skimming the words while he used his nose to try to identify what she reminded him of. She smelled like … like …

“Well?” she demanded. “What do you have to say now?”

“Witch doctors, intermediaries, and natural healers?” Draco said with laughter in his voice. “It also says they’re regarded with suspicion in their world. I’m not impressed, Granger.”

She closed the book, staring down at him. “You can’t even admit it when the evidence is right in front of you. What are you afraid of, Malfoy? That there’s more to the world than you know? That you might even discover that Muggles are just as smart, interesting, and valuable as we are?”

“Why would I care?”

“Because, then you’ll have no excuse to separate yourself from them. You won’t have any more justification for avoiding them other than your fear.” 

“I’m not scared of Muggles!”

Granger grinned and leaned in, those big eyes of hers inching closer to level a challenging stare. “Sure you are. That’s why purebloods like you continue to inbreed. You’d rather weaken your bloodline than risk taking a chance with the unfamiliar. It’s irrational, but that’s what fear does to people.”

Her scent was drifting back into his nostrils. He discreetly inhaled again as he peered into her eyes. The golden flecks in her irises caught the light peculiarly. They were surprisingly mesmerizing. 

“You’re wrong. I’m not afraid to take chances, Granger,” he said in a hoarse whisper as he reached up to cup her face and pull her closer. 

She gasped and resisted, her expression somewhere between surprise and terror. But when Draco insisted with a pull of his hand, she followed, and their mouths collided. He frowned as she held her lips tight against his. It felt like kissing his hand. When he slid his tongue out to pry them open, she jerked away, and before he could coax her back, he felt the sharp sting of an open palm striking him across the side of his face. 

He looked back at her in shock; her face was contorted in outrage. 

“What’s the matter with you!” she shouted. 

There was no answer to that. He knew something was wrong, but he had no idea what it was, or how it had occurred. 

She went back to her seat and packed her bag hastily. “I’m not a Muggle, Malfoy! I’m a witch! You can’t just kiss me out of the blue so you can prove you’re not a bigot! And by the way … you still are!”

Then she was gone, leaving Draco sore and rubbing his cheek as he tried to figure out what was happening to him.


	7. Dazed and Confused

Draco was still nursing his jaw when he returned to the Slytherin dorms. Once again, the common room was crowded, only now they were all sectioned off in groups. There were a few stragglers who didn’t appear involved, but the rest sat discussing various topics. Draco overheard bits, things concerning decorations, entertainment, and food. 

“Draco!” Pansy beckoned from the hearth where a rather large group of girls had gathered to sit around her. Several turned to look up and greet him.

When he turned to face the room, there was a small collective gasp. 

“What happened to your face?” Greg asked. 

Draco immediately pictured smacking him for calling attention to the obvious.

“Nothing.”

Blaise and Theo exchanged a curious glance and then resumed talking. Draco walked over to join them, giving the girl beside Blaise an imposing stare until she scampered off to join Pansy’s group. 

“I see you guys have managed to rope more people into your little party scheme.”

“Yep, and now we have McGonagall’s support,” Greg said.

Draco’s mouth opened and then shut. “Really?”

“That’s right,” Blaise said “She even gave us a small budget to help fund the event …at least the public one. She doesn’t know about the after party.”

“And we’re going to keep it that way,” Theo said with a slick smile. “Now, about Hufflepuff. I think there are at least four sixth years we should consider ...”

Draco listened as they resumed their debate about the “the list,” ranking sixth year girls on levels of physical maturity and bothersome quirks. 

“What do you think, Draco?” Theo asked.

His cheek still burning, Draco grimaced as he thought of the trouble one simple kiss could cause. “I don’t care. I doubt I’ll be participating.”

“No way. You have to participate. There has to be someone here you want to snog.”

“Hopefully, we’ll get up to something more than snogging,” Theo said with a wink. “So what do you say, Draco?”

Draco gave them a disinterested look and shook his head.

“Not even your wife-to-be?” Blaise teased, gesturing his head towards the hearth where Astoria sat.

Heaviness settled in Draco’s chest and he gave Blaise a stern look. “She’s not my wife-to-be.”

“Not officially. But she may as well be. I heard her telling her friends you two are practically betrothed. It’s only a matter of time before your father makes the announcement.”

Twisting in his seat to cast an evil glare in Astoria’s direction, Draco made sure his voice carried to her corner of the room. “She shouldn’t be saying such things. If it doesn’t work out—and it probably won’t—she’s the one that’s going to end up looking like a fool.”

“It’s probably a safe bet since both her father and yours are friends,” Blaise pressed.

Suddenly nauseous, Draco slid his hand from his cheek to his eyes and doubled over in his chair for a moment. Just the thought of his father discussing his future nuptials without his input made Draco sick.

“This party could be a good opportunity for you to taste the goods,” Blaise said.

Draco sat back up, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to picture kissing Astoria, but instead of tame blond locks and insipid blue eyes, all he could see staring back at him were flawed hazel irises and wild brown hair. He shuddered before he opened his eyes again, and resumed rubbing his offended cheek. 

Blaise scooted closer and leaned in to whisper, “Is there something wrong with her? You act like she’s a troll. She’s one of the most attractive girls here.”

Draco glanced back over at Astoria, who immediately caught his eye and gave a nervous smile. He quickly looked away. “She’s not my type.”

“No?” Blaise said. “Then who is? Just give me the name, and we’ll make sure she goes on the list.”

Draco gave the parchment Theo and Greg were arguing over a bothered glance, and then remembered something. “Blaise … that Muggle-born you kissed …”

Blaise pulled back and shook his head. “Come on, Draco, you know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“I wasn’t going to ask _who_ it was,” Draco said irritably. “I just wanted to know … _why_? How did it happen?” 

Blaise sat back, and sighed. “Why? What kind of question is that? Because I wanted to, that’s why. And so did she. We were attracted to each other, and it felt right.”

“So you didn’t do it on a dare, or as some sort of experiment?” Draco asked, slightly surprised. “You know, just to say you kissed one.”

“Kissed _one_?” Blaise repeated, narrowing his eyes in offense. “Draco, they’re magical people, just like us. And I think if I had treated her like a dare or experiment, she would have hexed my bits off. Girls want to be desired, cherished … not treated like an experiment.” His stare drifted to Draco’s cheek, and a conclusion formed in his eyes. “Look, I don’t know who she is, but next time maybe you should ask her if she wants to be kissed, and if she says yes, really mean it when you kiss her.”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

At breakfast the following morning, Draco tried to concentrate on his food and housemates, but his eyes kept drifting to the Gryffindor table where Granger was carrying on a rather lengthy conversation with the Weaslette. But as busy as she tried to look, Draco could tell she knew he was watching her.

“I knew there was a reason you were picking on her,” Pansy whispered, jarring him to attention. 

Embarrassment burned his cheeks, and he turned to sneer at her. “Only because she’s almost as annoying as you.” 

“Oh yeah, right, that’s why you’re staring at her like a lovesick stalker,” Pansy said with a smirk. 

“Keep talking, Parkinson, and you may end up like the victim of stalker.”

“Don’t even try to threaten me, Draco. I’m not Granger, I’ll hex you without thinking twice, and I won’t leave anything for you to work with. That is, if you’re ever lucky enough to bed her.” 

Gripping his fork tightly, Draco took a discreet look around to see if anyone was watching or listening. He quietly groaned as he spied Astoria staring at him. He kept his eyes on his plate, stabbing his food and eating quickly.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Over the next week, no matter what lesson he attended, Draco’s attention was split; while his eyes remained on the professor, his peripheral was always seeking out Granger. He could barely concentrate. Everything the professors said paled in comparison to the invisible magnetic current running between him and Granger. Neither one of them dared to look directly at the other, but Draco could still feel her awareness of him. It didn’t matter that she was supposed to be angry with him, there was a titillating new spark there, and it remained even when all of the lessons were done. Whether it was in the hallways, lessons, or at meals, the rope of magnetic current between them continued to tickle, tighten and excite him. All of this because of one kiss. It was both exciting and nerve-wracking. What the hell had he done? And how would they work together now?

In the evenings, right before bed, he’d take quill to parchment, starting up many notes proposing that they try meeting again. But he always ended up balling them up, afraid of what her reply might be.

But on Sunday night, just after dinner, he received a cryptic owl message. 

_Meet me in the old Potions classroom tonight to continue what we started._

He read the message at least ten times, trying to pick it apart for clues that would shed light on what Granger meant by “what we started”. She could have been referring to the project. But what if she wasn’t? What if Granger wanted him to kiss her again, perhaps even take it farther? Draco laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought.

“What’s so funny over there,” Greg called from his bed. 

“Nothing,” Draco mumbled, reading the note again. There was no way Granger would let him kiss her again, let alone touch her. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to; the kiss hadn’t been very good to begin with. 

Nevertheless he quickly scrambled out of bed and headed off the showers to get ready.

As he made his way to the old Potions classroom, his heart began to really pound, and sweat was breaking on his palms. He wiped his hands on his robes, cursing at himself. It was so not cool to have sweaty palms. What if Granger wanted to hold his hand or something? 

He shook his head. Why did his mind insist on even going there? This was just a regular Muggle Studies project meeting with know-it-all Granger. Nothing to get all worked up about. 

He slowed down as he approached the door to the classroom. It was open. He inhaled and stepped through the threshold. She turned around in her seat with her book open on the desk in front of her. Yep, she was definitely here to study. 

In a way, it was actually somewhat of a relief. Draco tried not to think of the disappointing pang he’d felt in his chest as he sat down across the aisle from her. 

She was poised, sitting up so straight it looked uncomfortable, and her hands were gripping the edges of her book too tightly. He could see pale white flesh breaking through her olive complexion across her knuckles. 

“Hello, Malfoy.”

“Granger.”

“Have you made any progress on the project on your own?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’ve made a list of some major contributions in each of the three categories you designated. All you have to do is check them against the Muggle stuff.”

“The Muggle stuff?” She sounded irritated.

“Contributions, I mean,” Draco corrected quickly. Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? 

“Let’s see it then,” she said, rising from her seat. Draco narrowed his eyes at her. Was she trying to boss him around again? His eyes followed her movements, taking note that she left her book, parchment, and quill at her desk. But he saw that she seemed intent not to make eye contact, and she was taking short, controlled breaths. Perhaps she was just as nervous as he. 

“Well?” she said with more force than was necessary. Draco blinked, and then he finally realized what she was asking for. He reached inside his bag, opened his book, and a mangled piece of parchment fell onto the floor. 

He reached down to retrieve it, but so did Granger, and their heads bumped together clumsily.

“Oh!” she said, holding her head where it had hit his. Draco grabbed the parchment and put it on the desk. 

“Are you all right?” he asked awkwardly, his hand hovering over her forehead, ready to check it.

She appeared even more anxious now that there was a chance of him touching her, and she stared at his hand as if it were an insect she didn’t want to get too close to. So he quickly withdrew it to snatch up his list and move past the uncomfortable moment. 

“For technology,” he said, clearing his throat, “I have the wand, the floo, and the Sneakoscope. For art and culture, I have the Leaning Tower of Pisa, Michaelango, and Mozart. And for spirituality and philosophy, I have Salazar Slytherin, of course, Merlin and Dumbledore, she ought to like that one.” 

Granger leaned in, re-reading the list he had just read. “Hmm. It’s good, but, I think we’ll have to broaden the technology category as well as the spirituality and philosophy section. I’m not sure if there’s any Muggle connection to the Sneakoscope or Salazar Slytherin. But I could be wrong.”

He didn’t reply, caught off guard by her admission that she didn’t know for sure and that there was a possibility that he could be right. She was still leaning over, studying his list, as if expecting something new to magically appear. Draco turned his head ever so slightly to smell her, trying to remember once more what she reminded him of, when she turned her head sharply so that her eyes met his. 

It felt like she’d hit him with Stupefy; his tongue was useless and he couldn’t move. 

“Are you going to try and kiss me again?” she asked with an edge to her voice.

Everything in her face said that replying “Yes” would be a bad idea. Her eyes looked guarded, and he sensed she was ready to hit him again if he made the wrong move. But the magnetic current between them was still there, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was something other than caution in her eyes, perhaps a tiny sparkle of hope. 

“Only if you want me to,” he said so softly it came out like a whisper. 

Her eyes widened and she licked her lips, holding his gaze steady as she replied, “I do.”

Afraid she’d withdraw again, Draco rushed forward in his seat to grab the back of her head from where she was standing and leaning over him. She gasped and then his lips met hers with gentle force. This time, her mouth was pliant, slightly open. Swiping her lips with his tongue, he tasted her. Her lip-gloss was cherry flavored. Eager for more, Draco shed all caution and plunged his tongue inside her mouth. Granger grabbed the back of his head and kissed him with the same abandon. She was good, confident and playful with her tongue. Better than the two witches he’d kissed before, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she’d had some practice with Krum and Weasley. Much too soon the kiss broke, and he opened his eyes. Her eyes remained shut as though she was afraid to look at him. Her mouth was wet, and her entire face was flushed. It looked good on her, he decided. 

Finally, she opened her eyes and gave him a small, embarrassed smile. “Well, that was interesting.”

“More than interesting,” Draco said, moving in to taste her lips again. This time he took it more slowly, exploring with his tongue to see how she’d respond. He cupped the side of her face again, and slowly rose from his seat. Granger straightened, until both of them were standing. Draco wrapped his arms around her waist, and she reached around his neck and rose on her tiptoes. Even through her robes, her body felt nice against his. The fullness of her breasts pressing into his chest sent a jolt to his cock, and he could feel himself hardening. Suddenly, she pulled back once again. 

“What?” he asked, ready to say or do anything to put her at ease. He wasn’t nearly done. 

She stepped back, and shook her head. “This is … weird.” 

Draco shrugged. “A little.” 

“You said you didn’t like me,” she said, her eyes searching his. 

“I thought I didn’t...”

She continued to watch him, and he could see in her face that she was working out something. The longer she stood there staring at him, the more self-conscious Draco became. He hated feeling that way- vulnerable and exposed, at the mercy of someone else’s choice. It was beginning to make him angry.

“Listen, you’re the one who came on to me,” he said defensively.

“I know,” she said quietly, her eyes still probing his face. 

“So what’s the problem, then?” 

Granger took a deep breath. “There’s no problem.”

Draco felt himself relax; he hadn’t realized how stiff he’d been holding himself, waiting for her to reject him. 

“Good,” he said, stepping closer to bridge the space she’d made between them.

But she took a step back. “Wait. I need to process this … think it over a bit.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s your problem, Granger, you think too much. Just go with it, have a little fun.”

He almost winced as soon as the words left his mouth because he could see her lips twitching into a scowl. 

“Fun? Is that what you want? I’m not some tart you can just snog and feel up, Malfoy!” 

“Calm down! I didn’t mean it like that.”

She shook her head. “This was a mistake. Let’s just stick to the project. We’ll meet again next Monday, same time, same place. In the meantime, you work on extending the list of magical inventions and philosophers, and I’ll work on cross-referencing.”

“Yeah, all right,” Draco grumbled, turning away so she couldn’t see just how disappointed he was.

He slowly packed away his things, giving her time to head out first. When he heard the door open and shut, he dropped his bag on the floor and plopped in the nearest seat.


	8. Let's Try This Again

The next several days were a blur of awkward glances and second-guesses. During the day, Draco spent most of his time trying to not look or think about Granger, but it was difficult because every time he snuck a glance, he’d find her already looking at him. 

What exactly was she playing at? 

Instead of disappearing, the invisible magnetic rope running between them felt more like a tightrope now. Every little conversation and interaction became a performance. He was more self-conscious of his looks, his laugh, his walk, and even his ability to answer questions in class. And he knew from the way she took small careful bites of her food to the way she constantly ran her hand over her hair, that she was just as aware of her own appearance. 

It was stupid, he decided. So very stupid. They were obviously attracted to each other, but Granger had decided she was too pristine to fool around with him. 

The only consolation was that at night, Draco’s pillow made for a good Granger substitute. Perhaps even better, because the pillow never rejected him and trusted him enough to let him kiss freely. When the night grew silent and he heard his dorm mates snoring, Draco would slide his pillow out from under his head, flip it over, and hold it close. The lower half was her hip, which he held firmly, and the top half was her head. He’d cradle it and imagine her hair running over his hand as he leaned in and tickled her face with his nose. It was always fun to draw it out, and he’d close his eyes and imagine the current they shared drawing them both closer to each other until finally, their lips met again. Slipping tongue to a pillow wasn’t ideal, but Draco was surprised at how comfortable it became with some practice. 

On Sunday, the night before he was scheduled to meet up with Granger again, his nerves began to get the best of him, and he started thinking about how the session would go. Would she really want to stick to studying, or would she give in to the pull between them? Why was she really holding out anyway? Was she scared she’d fall for him? 

Trying to distract himself, he focused on the conversation taking place in the Slytherin common room. The party planning had grown to epic proportions; there were other Houses involved now, and secret meetings for those planning the second party. The conversations about the after party were the most fun to listen to and certainly much more interesting now that Draco actually had someone he really wanted to kiss. He had already imagined a few scenarios involving Granger spinning the bottle so that it pointed at him. 

“What are you thinking about?” Blaise asked. 

“Huh?”

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”

Draco shrugged.

“Who is she?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Right,” Blaise said, grinning. “Well, I’m glad my advice helped.”

Draco rolled his eyes at that statement, but he also offered Blaise a tiny grateful smile.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Draco came to the study session purposefully late, so as not to have to wait. Granger was already controlling too much.

When he walked in, she huffed impatiently. “It’s about time you showed. Did you work on expanding the list?”

“Yeah, here,” he said, setting his bag down and pulling out a piece of parchment. 

She walked around the desk and took it from his hand to read it over. He tried to keep cool and relaxed, but Granger was standing close again. Closer than she needed to.

What a little tease. 

Daring to look at her, Draco turned his head to watch her read, leaning in ever so discreetly to catch a whiff of her smell. 

Granger’s scent was stronger today, and it was definitely perfume. His eyelids drooped a little as he tried once more to identify it. The nostalgia it inspired took him back to a special time, when he was still very young and naïve, and believed the world could be his. While his father enjoyed giving lectures about the legacy and responsibilities of being a pureblood, his mother would show him the beauty of magic and its endless possibilities. Whether she was taking Draco to the Tate on Sunday afternoons or summering in Bonnu and Cote du Rhone, it was those experiences that taught Draco the most about the power of magic to change the world. 

_Ah!_

“That perfume you’re wearing, what is it?”

“What?” she asked. “Oh, something my mother sends me.” 

“Your mother? Isn’t she … Muggle?”

“Yes, so?” Granger asked defensively.

“Well, I know for a fact that the maker of that particular scent is a witch. Madam Morgana. My mother adores her perfumes, and the one you’re wearing is a designer exclusive.”

Granger wrinkled her nose, giving Draco an odd look. “Do you rummage through your mother’s perfumes or something?”

“No!” Draco said, annoyed that she was twisting his words. “But I do have a sensitive nose. It’s the reason why I excel in Potions. I don’t remember all of Madam Morgana’s perfumes, but I distinctly remember that one because …” he paused, suddenly aware he had shared too much. 

“Because what?” she pressed.

He gave her a once over. “Never mind. Trust me, it’s a Madam Morgana original.”

“Interesting,” Granger said. “Perhaps my mother purchased it in Diagon. I can ask her. If she didn’t, perhaps it would serve as a good example of cross-cultural pollination from the wizarding world to the Muggle world.” 

Draco nodded. “Good idea.” 

Granger ran her hand over her hair, this time pulling it over to the left side, exposing the right side of her neck. Draco stared down at the newly exposed skin. It looked soft, and was without blemish except for the scar. 

Was she inviting him to smell her? 

He could already picture her pulling away and scolding him afterwards, but perhaps it would be worth it. He took the risk, and leaned in, his face almost touching her neck as he drew in her scent. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he whispered. He stayed there for a moment, his nose almost grazing her skin while she held her neck out for him. They were so close it was almost cruel. He couldn’t help himself. In the next second his lips fell onto her flesh, and then she did something unexpected. She moaned. It was very soft, but unmistakable. Encouraged, he kissed her there again, sucking gently and he heard her softly hum in approval. He continued kissing up her neck until his mouth reached her earlobe. He nipped it lightly and whispered, “Don’t you dare stop me.”

She didn’t reply, so he reached up and cupped her face, turning it towards his so that he could kiss her properly. Their lips moved slow and tentative at first, and then Draco took over, and completely lost himself in her. 

He devoured Granger’s lips, trying everything he’d practiced. But this was so much better than his pillow. And her mouth was so responsive and eager, he couldn’t help but wonder how far she’d let him take this. 

As she began to thread her hands through his hair, Draco tightened his hold around her waist, his hands drifting lower to feel the plump roundness of Granger’s arse. He squeezed, hoping to Merlin she didn’t pull away. She didn’t. So he squeezed again and pushed his entire body against her, backing them both up against the desk. 

There was no doubt about it, he was hard now, and with the momentum building in their heated kiss and his hard cock pressed against her, there seemed to be no stopping them. Draco moved forward, pushing Granger over the desk, willing her to lean back so that he could position himself between her legs. 

But her hands left his hair to push against his chest. Draco groaned in frustration, but reluctantly backed off, breaking their kiss. 

“Slow down,” she said, half laughing. 

Draco smiled, relieved that she wasn’t mad at him. 

He could feel his face burning from embarrassment as he glanced down at the tent in his trousers. In an effort to hide it, he crossed his arms over his groin. “I’m not really known for my patience,” he said, forcing himself to look at her.

Granger glanced at it too and blushed. “I see. Well, you can’t rush me. Whatever it is we’re doing … I want to take it slow.” 

Draco nodded, grateful to hear she was fully on board. “All right.” 

“I think we should give more attention to this project … meeting once a week isn’t going to be enough,” she said with a smirk. 

Draco grinned. It was hard not to do a victory lap around the room, but he managed. “I agree. We should meet every day. After dinner.”

She nodded, her cheeks turning red again. “Let’s just make sure we really get some work done. Christmas will be here before we know it.”

“Right. Definitely,” he said as he watched her try to return to her book like nothing had just happened. 

Whether or not either one of them could pull it off was something Draco looked forward to testing out.


	9. Snogging Sessions

As it turned out, Granger was an excellent taskmaster. Study first, kiss later was her rule. And for the most part, they stuck to it. Over the next month, Draco learned very quickly to come prepared and to anticipate what the project needed next. Impressing her always made their snogging more intense. 

It wasn’t long before Granger began leaving her robes behind, showing up to their sessions in a jumper and sometimes, if he was lucky, a skirt. 

As soon as Granger said, ‘OK, I think we’ve done enough for today,’ that was Draco’s cue to snatch her up. He snogged her against her desk (and his), up against the door, the wall, and his new favorite — in the chair. 

Trying to kiss in a single chair had taken their snogging to an entirely new level. When it first began, she’d been hesitant.

They had been kissing like they always did now, and Granger’s tongue played hide and seek like it was wont to do before meeting his tongue head on, tasting, exploring. He felt her falter and opened his eyes to see her trying to brace herself on the desk behind him while leaning in. 

That wouldn’t do. He pushed her back, away from him, planted his feet firmly on the floor and before she could scamper away, Draco reached up to tug at her shirt and put the other hand on her waist, pulling her whole body towards him. 

“You want me to climb onto your lap? That’s … not very lady like,” she said, a tremor of trepidation in her voice.

“For once, Granger, please do what I say, and shut up,” he said before guiding her onto his lap. For a second he feared she’d back out and run, but the doubt in her eyes changed to resolution as she spread her legs and straddled him. 

The effect of having Granger on his lap was instantaneous. Like a shot of Vitamix potion to his lower half, Draco immediately felt himself harden. She gasped again as she shifted against him. A soft moan left her lips, and Draco could only stare up at her in wonder and surprise. 

She rolled her hips again and Draco groaned, reaching back into her hair and pulling her down for another taste.

Now they used the chair all the time. Granger was not only a quick learner, but she was very good with her hips. She never failed to make him teeter on the edge between orgasm and madness. It was both exhilarating and frustrating.

Today was no exception. As he stared up at her and she braced herself on top of him with her hands on his shoulders, a familiar frustrated ache began to build. She was so fucking sexy to watch, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her as she continued to roll her hips, rubbing her denim-covered crotch against his. 

A whimper escaped him as she shifted yet again, and his frustration boiled over. He grabbed her hips, and with a jerk, pulled her into him as if he could spear her – penetrate her — through her clothing.

“Oh!” she cried. 

“You like that? Want me to do it again?” he asked, not bothering to wait as he pushed his hips up and held her tight.

“Draco …”

“Yes?” he said, pushing and pulling once again.

“Mmm,” she mewed. She sounded just as frustrated, which only increased his desire. 

He threw his head back and let out a loud groan. “Fuck!”

As Granger stilled and so did he, wondering if she had grown tired and wanted to quit. 

They both jerked their heads towards the door as the sound of voices, and footsteps grew louder.

“Oh shit!” Draco whispered. Granger quickly dismounted, adjusting her clothing and fixing her hair before returning to her desk. Draco sat up and scooted closer to his desk, opening his book. 

They read in tense silence until the voices faded and the footsteps ceased.

Draco whistled softly. “That was close.” 

“We can’t do this anymore,” Granger said, shaking her head. “We’re going to get caught.”

Draco’s eyes went to the door behind the professor’s desk. It stayed shut. It was a door Draco had wanted to open on more than one occasion, but fear had kept him from saying anything. 

He chewed on the inside of his lip as he contemplated whether to make the proposal and exactly how to make it so as not to alarm her. 

“Draco?”

“What if I told you I know a place where we can have some more privacy without running the risk of getting caught?” 

There was a question within his question, and Granger continued to stare at him, not saying anything, looking unsure about how to answer.

“You can check it out,” he said quickly. “And if you feel comfortable, we can continue our … sessions there. But if you don’t like it, then we can stop.” 

She nodded slowly, and Draco took a deep breath before rising from his seat to make his way to the front of the room, past the professor’s desk.

As he stood before the mahogany door, staring at the silver snakeskin patterned doorknocker, an unexpected memory flashed in his mind. The last time he’d stood here, he’d been near tears, desperate and unsure if he or his family would survive. 

Slowly, he raised his hand to take the knocker in his hand, and gave it three hard knocks.

“What are you doing?” Granger called nervously. “That old office has been sealed.” 

Draco put his ear to the doorknocker, and he heard the faint whisper: “Who calls?”

“Draco Malfoy. I need sanctuary.”

The click of the latch falling behind the door was soft but clear, and behind him he heard Granger gasp and stand.

Slowly, almost fearfully, he opened the door, unprepared for the feelings that rushed through him. Snape’s old office and living quarters looked very much like they had during Draco’s sixth year. The décor was simplistic and dark: deep green carpet, drab and shadowy walls with various potions stacked against them, a few pieces of furniture, and a fireplace with a huge portrait of a dark and tumultuous sea reflecting the faint glow from a distant lighthouse.

“This feels like him,” she whispered. 

Startled, Draco turned to look at her. She was staring at the portrait above the hearth.

He swallowed. “There’s ah … a bedroom in the back.” 

Her gaze slowly moved from the portrait to his eyes, and Draco held his breath, hoping he wasn’t pushing her too hard.

“Show me,” she said.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

That night Draco moved from kissing his pillow to grinding against it. Although Granger had only surveyed the bedroom to give her approval, in his fantasy, that moment had gone much farther.

Flipping the pillow over so that it lay vertically, he rolled on top of it and kissed it softly before completely burying his face into its lushness. He whispered sweet things, like how good it smelled and how pretty its eyes were. And while the pillow’s length ended at his thighs, Draco imagined it had legs that were wrapped tightly around him. 

He tried to grind into it slow and easy, so as not to make the bed creak, but it was hard, especially when all he wanted to do was rut against the soft cushion until he achieved release. 

Draco moved up and down and in circles, trying out different strokes, picturing Granger writhing underneath him. He imagined in fine detail her pert breasts moving in time with his thrusts. Sometimes he pictured her nipples as pink, but tonight they were brown, and her olive skin was golden, like she’d been bathing topless in the sun. He leaned down to take a piece of the pillow into his mouth, and he could practically taste the soft hard pebble of her flesh on his tongue. The urge to turn over and wank was strong, but he was determined to practice patience and restraint, so despite the pressure building in his balls, Draco continued to hump silently. When he could achieve no more, he finally stopped, biting down hard on the pillow to stifle a loud groan. 

His cock was still harder than steel, but rather than relieve himself, he pictured Granger spent and stroking his hair. Slowly, the pressure in his lower half faded, and so did Draco as he drifted off to sleep, imagining Granger sleeping soundly beneath him.


	10. Reminders

The school was buzzing with talk about the party. Everyone was happier than usual, which Draco found amusing considering how unusually cheery everyone was to start with. 

Still, he couldn’t begrudge anyone their happiness, not with the way things were going with Hermione. In class, his attention was still split, but instead of trying to pretend she didn’t exist, he was having fun strategically sneaking in sexy leers and winks. Sometimes, she’d lick her lips for him, but mostly she paid attention. It didn’t matter though, she was the smartest person in class, and now he was snogging her. 

They developed a pattern for studying. They’d meet, talk about the project, and then wander into the former living quarters. Hermione always lingered in the front room before making her way back to the bedroom. Draco could never tell if she was procrastinating or really enamored with Snape’s old space. 

Hermione didn’t take well to being rushed. It was sort of like a game now. The better prepared he came for the assignment and the more patient he was for the snogging, the more she rewarded him. Sometimes, if he came extra prepared, she’d even let him feel her breasts, but never under the shirt. So, in the past few weeks, Draco had perfected the art of patience.

They always sat on the bed, scared to lie upon it. He’d sit on the edge of the bed and she’d straddle him and wrap her arms around his neck. As they kissed, he’d hold her arse, allowing her to gently grind into him. 

After a few weeks of fully clothed grinding, Draco was ready for much more, but he didn’t want to push her. As it turned out, he didn’t have to. 

Everything changed the Monday before Halloween. 

The night before Draco had awoken from a terrible nightmare involving Fiendfyre. He’d tried to save Vincent, but the nightmare seemed too resistant to his wishes, making him relive his failure to save his friend over and over again. That morning, Draco woke up cranky with a terrible headache. He stared at the date on his Quidditch calendar. It didn’t seem real. Last year at this time, he’d sent Vincent a dozen of those creamy nougats he liked. 

When he climbed out of bed, he noticed that Greg was already up and dressed, and seemed especially energetic. Draco’s irritation spiked dangerously before he turned to head for the bathroom. 

Throughout the day, his mood grew worse. Every time someone tried to speak to him, Draco practically eviscerated them with his sarcasm. Eventually, they just stopped trying, which was fine by him. 

He gave Brinkley a hard time in Potions, asking pointed questions about how much actual field experience the man had. Of course, the man had very little, and it gave Draco some temporary satisfaction to see the idiot stammer even more than usual. 

And in Muggle Studies, he outright asked where Mrs. Green had spent the last two years, forcing her to admit that she had fled into hiding. The woman tried to explain that there was no shame in protecting one’s self from persecution, but he could tell by the shaky tone of her voice and the way she held herself stiff, he’d pressed a button. Which was the goal after all.

He wanted everyone to feel just as shitty and uncomfortable as he felt right now. 

At dinner, he glared at his housemates as they went along without a care in the world, discussing the party. 

“Draco, you’re awfully quiet today,” Pansy said.

“Funny, you’re never quiet. Perhaps you should try it,” he said.

Pansy sighed. “I see someone woke on the wrong side of the bed.”

“What’s wrong, Draco?” Greg asked. 

Draco sat back and looked at Greg in disbelief. “You really don’t know, do you? You’re sitting here, laughing it up and planning parties, and you don’t even remember what today is.” 

Greg’s face fell and he stared at Draco for a moment. “I know what today is. How could I forget?” 

“It certainly appears as if you have,” Draco said bitterly.

“What do you want me to do, Draco? Sit around and mope? Life goes on. Sure, I thought about Vincent this morning when I woke up. I also thought about what I almost lost. We could have died. But we didn’t. We’re here. We’re alive, and I’m going to make the most of it. Don’t try and make me feel bad about it,” he said before snatching up a roll and rising from the table.

The sudden silence at the table was noticeable. Draco looked around. He saw that all of his friends had stopped talking and were now staring at their plates, pretending as if they hadn’t heard what Greg had just said. 

After dinner, he went straight to the Snape’s old classroom. Hermione arrived to find him staring at a page, but not reading. He heard her enter, but didn’t look up or respond when she placed her hands on his shoulders and began to massage. 

“Wow, you’re really tense,” she said, pressing in harder. 

Draco held his mouth tight and didn’t reply, 

She continued to rub his shoulders. “What’s wrong? I noticed you seemed to be in a bad mood today. I think you hurt Mrs. Green’s feelings.”

Draco scoffed. “Good. She likes to boast about working in the Ministry, but really, what has she done? She spent the last two years hiding out, while people were fighting and dying.”

“That’s not really fair, Draco. A lot of people went into hiding, especially Muggle-borns. They had no choice. And she doesn’t really boast, she just shares her experiences. That’s what she’s supposed to do,” Hermione argued.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Hermione continued to massage his back in silence, working out the knots one by one. 

“Today’s Vincent’s birthday,” he said softly. He hadn’t even planned to tell her, but the words just fell of his mouth.

For a few moments she said nothing, and then her hands stopped for a moment. “Really?” 

“I know he tried to kill you, so I don’t expect you to care,” Draco said, “But the problem is no one else seems to care either.” 

She went quiet again for several moments and then resumed massaging. “That’s not true. You care …”

“That’s not enough,” Draco said with a stubborn headshake. “It’s as if the entire school is trying to ignore what happened. All anyone talks about around here is the Halloween feast and the big party. They’re all laughing and joking about games and food. But no one ever talks about Snape or Burbage. No one talks about _anyone_ who died. It’s just not right.” 

He closed his eyes as he felt something moving in his chest, and his throat constricted like it usually did when he was about to cry. Bad idea. He took a deep breath, trying to hold it in. 

“Draco, I don’t think anyone has forgotten. People are just getting on the best way they know how.”

“By pretending nothing happened? Faking their way through the day and obsessing about stupid shit?”

“Maybe they’re just trying to look at the bright side. There’s been so much tragedy and sadness, especially with all of the funerals and trials. It’s been really draining. I know before we both said they were all acting abnormal, but, perhaps they’re onto something.”

“I’m just … frustrated that no one even wants to acknowledge what happened. We don’t have to walk around moping and depressed, but pretending doesn’t work either, at least not for me.”

She stopped massaging then and came around to his side, squatting down to look into his eyes. “Then don’t. Perhaps you can get involved with the party planning.”

Draco gave her a ridiculous look. 

“What I mean is that you should tell them how you feel. Perhaps suggest they make space for remembering those who died here.”

As Draco looked back at her, the chagrin he’d been feeling began to turn into something else. Once again, Hermione was the only normal one left. She really got it. She got him, and Draco was so thankful that she was there. He grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her with intenseness he’d never done before. She kissed him back with just as much fervor, wrapping her arms around his neck as he stood up and maneuvered them towards the front of the room. They hit a few desks on the way to the living quarters, but Draco didn’t want to stop, even to say the password to enter. 

He made haste and said the words, and once they entered, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Positioning himself in the sitting position with her on his lap, he resumed what they had started. As she ground herself against him and devoured his mouth, his need for her multiplied. He wanted her so bad. Breaking the kiss, he buried his head into her chest, rubbing his forehead in the valley between her two covered mounds. He could hear her heart beat, it sounded as loud as his felt in his ears. He moved slowly to take her left breast into his mouth and bit it gently through her t-shirt. She sighed, and her hand moved from his neck to his head to hold him as he bit again. 

“Take off your shirt,” he whispered. 

“Hmm?”

“Take off your shirt,” he said again, pushing her back a little to make eye contact. 

She looked nervous. “Draco … I’m not ready.”

“Ready for what? I just want to see you in your underwear,” he reassured. “If it helps, I’ll take off my shirt too.” 

She laughed then, and he smiled, pushing her off of him. He stood up quickly and unbuttoned his oxford. When her eyes fell to his left arm, Draco braced himself for anything: her running out of the room, or telling him she couldn’t do this. But she just kept silent for a long time, her eyes on the Mark that blemished his skin. 

Finally, she raised her eyes to look at him. 

“Can I see you?” he asked cautiously.

She nodded, and his heart did a flip in his chest. When she started pulling up her shirt, Draco sat back down to watch. 

Lifting up her shirt revealed a simple white bra covering two perfect breasts. Draco exhaled, committing every detail to memory. She dropped the shirt to the floor, and he simply continued to stare. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

She blushed and briefly covered her face before dropping her hands.

“Take off your denims,” he said.

“Draco…”

“Please…you can leave your knickers on. I just want to see what they look like on you.”

He held his breath, fearing he had pushed her too far, when she motioned towards him with her head. “You first.”

He stood up quickly and discarded his trousers, revealing plain white boxer shorts.

Heat spread over his body when her eyes roamed over his chest and came to rest on the bulge in his pants. There was no hiding now. His embarrassment turned to anticipation when she began to undo the button of her denims. His eyes popped when she pulled them down to step out of them. Her plain white cotton knickers matched her bra, and he thought to himself he’d never seen anything lovelier. 

“Come here,” he said.

Hermione slowly walked to him, and he dared himself to push her even further. Before he could chicken out, Draco quickly grabbed her hand and pulled it forward towards the tent in his boxers. 

Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes grew wide as he pressed her palm against his erection. He closed his eyes; it felt amazing to have her touch him like this. With his hand covering hers, he guided her over the entire length of the shaft. It didn’t take long for her hand to tighten around its girth, and Draco moaned appreciatively as she began to squeeze and stroke. 

“Hermione,” he moaned as her hand began to take control over the movement. 

“Lie on the bed,” she said softly. 

Draco did as she said and dropped onto the mattress, flat on his back. Hermione climbed on top of him, positioning her clothed crotch firmly against his hard cock. He could feel the wetness and heat seeping through her knickers. This was the closest they’d ever been. And when she began to rock over him, it felt almost perfect. 

He grabbed her hips and pulled her forward, gazing up at her breasts as they moved. Moans filled the room as he thrust his hips, pushing into her with fast staccato movement.

Hermione leaned over and pressed against him, her hands on his chest, and her breasts falling within the reach of his mouth. He took the opportunity to taste her through the soft cotton fabric once again. 

They moved like that for a long time, until they were both covered in a sheen of sweat. Unable to achieve a climax, Draco began to slow down, simply enjoying the sight of her moving on top of him. Finally she stopped, and smiled down at him.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this …”

He reached up and caressed her belly, and she stroked his hand as he did. 

“Do you want to know a secret?”

Draco nodded. “Yes.”

She put her hand up to her forehead and then giggled. “OK, don’t laugh, but … sometimes, I get scared when we’re doing stuff in here.”

“Scared? Of what?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t him that frightened her.

“Scared that Snape will just pop up. Like his ghost will come and yell at us for using his bed.” 

Draco laughed, and she swatted at his chest. “I told you not to laugh,” she said, before breaking into laughter herself. She rolled off to lie beside him. Draco smiled up at the ceiling, distinctly aware that he felt much better than he had at the start of the day. 

They lay there like that for several moments in completely silence until she turned on her side to look at him. 

“You really should talk to your housemates about setting up a moment of silence or something before the party. Or perhaps they could have some sort of trivia game, where people have to guess facts related to the heroes who died here.” 

At her words, Draco felt another pang in chest. “Just the heroes?”

Her eyes fell and she bit her lip, and he instantly regretted his words.

“I meant everyone … every Hogwarts student and staff member who lost their life here,” she said quietly.

“It’s a good idea. Perhaps I’ll suggest it to them,” Draco said, reaching up to pull a stray curl out of her face. 

She lifted her eyes and gave him a small smile, and once again, Draco found himself lost in her honey-brown irises. “Your eyes are so strange,” he whispered as he continued admiring them.

They stared at each other for a long time, and Draco began to wonder what she was thinking about.

“It really is hard to believe we’re here like this. Considering where we were this time last year,” she said as her eyes fell to his left arm once again.

A mixture of shame and guilt washed over him, and suddenly he wished he could put his shirt back on. He watched as she reached down to trace the Mark with her fingers. And then his gaze traveled from her hand to her arm, to the scar on her neck. No shirt would ever be able to cover that up, not even a turtleneck. It sat high, on the right side, starting right under her chin. As he stared at it, the helplessness and terror of that night began to creep back in. He had been able to block it out so far, pretending her scar was from some other misadventure or the result of an accident. 

But as Hermione continued to caress his tattoo, he could no longer pretend that her scar was from something else. Like his Mark, it was a reminder of their past, and the hate that once sat between them, borne out of prejudice. She had suffered for it, and it made him sad that he had played a part in it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She stopped tracing to stare at him, and he was overcome to find her eyes glassy with tears. His own eyes began to sting. He blinked, surprised to feel them watering. Reaching up, he loosely wrapped his hand around her neck, lightly dragging his thumb over the scar tissue. A teardrop fell from her eyes to his wrist, and he repeated himself. 

“I’m sorry…”

She gave him the tiniest smile, even as another tear fell. “It’s not your fault, but … thanks for saying it.”


	11. New Perspective

After that day, Draco began to think about Hermione incessantly. He actually found himself looking forward to listening to her answer questions in class. Her brilliance made her even more attractive, and he’d always smirk in satisfaction after the professor awarded her house points for getting the right answer.

He was sick in the head. 

More than their kisses, now her conversations turned him on. The rare words she chose, the way she talked. Everything she did was magical. They didn’t even have to snog for him to leave their sessions with a hard-on. Of course, they did snog a lot, which meant Draco almost always left their study sessions frustrated and craving for more of her time. The only thing that could relieve him of his frustration now was wanking.

But wanking in the dorms was always a challenge. Everyone knew that everyone else did it, but pretended that they didn’t. It was an implicit rule that if you had to wank, you did it quietly so that no one had to acknowledge that it went on. 

The pillow had served its purpose, but it no longer gave Draco what he needed. Even though he and Hermione hadn’t “done it” yet, he could no longer restrain himself from thinking about having sex with her. 

When the night grew still, he’d slip a bottle of lotion out from under his pillow. A lubricating spell would have been preferred, but saying the incantation was too risky. Even a whisper might have disturbed someone and broken the rule of silence. 

Now his right hand was Hermione. Sometimes she’d stroke him with her hand the way he stroked himself, and sometimes she’d take him into her mouth and suck. But his most powerful orgasms came when he thought about being inside of her. Since he wanked on his back, he always pictured her on top, straddling him, her tight wet heat enveloping him as she rode him. Her breasts were no longer covered with white cotton — they bounced freely, and as of late, her nipples were almost always brown. While stroking his cock with one hand, he’d reach up with the other, to caress and pinch those nipples and he could hear her moan in response. And now, when the pressure began to build in his balls, he only had to bite his tongue and increase the friction to reach his climax. He always pictured her leaning over him then, giving him one long passionate kiss. That always did it. He’d explode over his hand, finally slowing down, satiated, with Hermione lying on top of him.

After about a week of nightly wankings, Draco woke up one morning feeling refreshed. Wanking certainly relaxed a man, but it was more than that. The conversation and time with Hermione had really mellowed him out, and he felt absolved and less resentful. He heard a lot of shuffling, and peeked outside his bed. Greg was up and moving about, his eyes puffy and a frown on his face. They hadn’t really spoken in almost a week, and it was time to end the petty silence.

“Morning, Greg,” Draco said.

Greg paused to stare at him. “Morning,” he said with hesitation.

Draco climbed out of bed, stretched, and smiled at Greg, who kept glancing up at him every few seconds.

“So, how can a bloke get involved in planning the party?”

Greg blinked, and a smile spread slowly across his face. “You don’t even have to ask, just jump in.”

Draco smiled back at his friend. “All right. I’m in.”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Draco was pleased to see how receptive his housemates were to the idea of setting aside some time to honor those who had died at Hogwarts. There were many suggestions — a few even liked Hermione’s suggestion of a trivia game, but most thought that was too morbid, and by the same logic, the idea for a moment of silence was voted down. In the end a consensus was reached, and they agreed to name each dish and pastry served during the evening after one of the fallen.

With his suggestion taken so seriously, Draco became more invested as the weeks passed and was now actually excited about the two events. 

One Wednesday evening, a month before the big party, he was anxious to tell Hermione some good news, but from the huge, excited grin on her face, it was apparent she had some news of her own.

“I have some news,” he said. 

“So do I!” she exclaimed.

He smiled. “OK, well, the party planning group thinks we should do our presentation before the party, sort of like a kick-off.”

“Oh that’s perfect! It ties directly into the theme of collaboration and unity.”

“Not really, but we can work with it,” he said with a grin.

“Guess what?” she said.

“What?”

“I just received an owl from my mother. She said she got the perfume from a shop just outside of Oxford!” she said excitedly. “It’s completely Muggle, as far as she knows, but the maker’s name is Morgana.” 

“Hmm, very interesting,” Draco said. “I wonder if Madam Morgana is posing as a Muggle or if she has a third party shipping things to Muggle shops?”

“Or perhaps she has Muggle connections,” Hermione said. “Draco, what if Muggle perfumists inspire her perfumes? Perhaps they ask her to come up with a particular type of fragrance and then she brews it for mass production with their sponsorship.”

“That’s good. Or maybe, the shop isn’t Muggle at all, but your mother just thinks it is. I mean, as far as everyone knows, Morgana is a Muggle perfumist, but we know the truth.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “I bet there are all sorts of business partnerships between Muggles and wizards. Who knows what kind of deals go on in selling and trading commerce?”

“That would explain why there’s so much interaction from both worlds. Which goes back to my original point: it’s impossible to know who contributed what, especially if wizards are living amongst Muggles without revealing themselves.”

Hermione grinned at him. “I think you’re right.”

“You do?” he said, taken aback. 

Hermione nodded. “Well, we already have examples of such a thing with Michelangelo and Mozart. Clearly Muggles think they’re Muggle too, but we know they’re not. Oh!”

“What?” he asked.

“This could be the opening to our presentation! We’ll start with the perfume. We could use the story of how my Muggle mother bought it in a Muggle shop and how everyone thinks the designer, Morgana, is Muggle. And then you can tell the real story of Madam Morgana. Then we can ask the audience questions about how they think the perfume ended up in that shop.” 

“Brilliant.”

“And whatever possibilities they don’t address, we’ll bring up. After that, we can talk about wizarding contributions to the Muggle world.”

“All right, that sounds good,” Draco said. “But Mrs. Green is definitely going to want us to put emphasis on Muggle contributions. How do we introduce that?” 

Hermione rubbed her temple for a moment and then raised one finger emphatically. “How about using the perfume example in reverse? We could pose the question: what if a Muggle perfumist inspired Morgana, or even suggested the fragrance? I think if we’re going to talk about Muggle contributions, we should really focus on the way they inspire wizards to create or improvise, pushing us to be better.”

Draco could hardly believe it, but he was really enamored with their presentation idea. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

Hermione smiled. “I can’t believe we actually agree on this.”

Draco sighed. “I think you’ve bewitched me.” 

“And you’re complaining?” she asked with a seductive smile.

“No. Actually, I’d wish you’d do it some more,” he said, moving over to grab her around the waist. 

She pulled at his tie, leading him to the living quarters’ door. “I think I can arrange that.”

Draco gave her a seductive stare and said the password. As soon as the door unlocked, he scooped her into her arms and pushed through to take her back to the bedroom. 

They began kissing and undressing immediately until they were both in their underwear. Draco lifted Hermione by her arse, so that her legs were wrapped around his waist. They snogged like that for a few moments before he slowly laid her back onto the mattress, with himself on top. She spread her legs wider and wrapped her legs around him, which made him even harder. There was lust in her eyes, and he wanted her just as much, pushing his clothed erection against her damp knickers. 

As they resumed kissing, and as their tongues danced around each other, Draco’s desire increased. Draco closed his eyes and let his head fall as he began to push her into the bed as if he were making love to her. He could almost picture it. Her responsive moans helped as he pretended he was really inside of her. They rocked the bed in a steady rhythm, a perfect imitation of the real act. But it wasn’t real, and soon his frustration began to build.

“Hermione,” he gritted out, his dissatisfaction rising with the climax he knew he would never achieve. “I want you so bad.”

“I want you too,” she said breathlessly. “I want you inside of me. Right now.”

Draco stopped moving and pulled back to look at her. “What?” 

She swallowed and took a deep breath. “I said I’m ready. Ready to really be with you.”

Draco froze, immobilized by fear and surprise. “I …”

Her face went tight and her eyes anxious. “You don’t want to?”

“Yes, of course I do,” he reassured. 

“All right,” she said, sighing in relief and lifting her head to kiss him again. 

Tiny goose bumps broke out upon his skin as her hand trailed down his chest until it reached the waistband of his boxers.

“No!” he said, grasping her wrist. “No, we can’t.” 

Something in his chest constricted. The hurt look in her eyes was worse than having to reject her. He rolled off of her and slowly and sat up. 

Hermione sat up as well. “Draco, are you … are you a virgin?”

He felt trapped. It was so much more complicated than that, only he couldn’t tell her why.

“Draco?”

“Yes! So what if I am?”

A curious smile formed on her lips, and Draco’s entire body went rigid as he prepared to hear her say something seemingly light-hearted that would end up cutting him, the way girls often did. 

“So am I.” 

Draco’s eyebrows rose high. “You mean, you and Weasley never…”

She shook her head slowly, still smiling. “I really didn’t think you were a virgin though.”

Draco brow furrowed. “Who did you think I’d been with?”

She shrugged. “Pansy?”

Draco threw back his head and laughed. “Hermione, Pansy and I are friends. She wouldn’t fuck me if I begged her to, which I would never do because … ugh!” He shuddered. “I can’t even imagine it. Picture you and Potter shagging.”

Hermione grimaced.

“Yeah, exactly,” Draco said. 

“Well I’m really glad to hear that,” Hermione said. “Because it’s very important to me.”

“Me too,” he said softly. More than she’d ever know. 

She reached up to caress his cheek. “Then there’s no rush. I can wait for you.”

Draco closed his eyes, exhaling softly in relief.


	12. A Call to Duty

Over the next few days, Draco began to withdraw, making excuses for not being able to meet with Hermione for their study sessions. Their last conversation had been a wake-up call. All this time, he’d been pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist, but now he had to really think about where their relationship was going. He hadn’t even claimed her in public as his girlfriend. If they had sex, where would it go from there? 

Although Draco didn’t think his mother cared nearly as much about him seeing a Muggle-born, he knew his father had certain expectations. And as many mistakes as the man had made, he was still his father. Draco loved and respected Lucius, and disappointing the man always made Draco feel like shit, like he had bit the hand that had made and fed him. It just felt wrong.

But the idea of not being with Hermione felt wrong as well, and he really was at a loss for what his next move should be. He just knew he needed to figure it out soon.

He sat on the couch, half listening to the conversation, his mind vacillating from Hermione to his father. 

“Hey, Draco,” Blaise said, giving him a playful shove. “Snap out of it. Pansy wants suggestions for which dish we should name after Snape. Most of the girls think it should be a dessert, but I think Snape should be something meaty, with a strong aftertaste, like spicy bangers and mash.”

“Blaise …what happened to that girl you kissed? The Muggle-born.”

Blaise shrugged. “It didn’t work out.”

“Because she was Muggle-born?”

“No, because we were just very different … in other ways.”

“What if it had, though? Worked out, I mean,” Draco asked, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

Blaise studied Draco’s face for a few moments. “Then I would have done what blokes do when they find a good one. I would have kept her.”

“But what about your mother? She’s a traditional sort.”

Blaise sighed. “Yeah, she is. She probably would have threatened to disown me. I doubt she’d actually have done it though. But it wouldn’t have mattered either way because last year I realized something …”

“What?”

“I can’t live my life for my mother. Her beliefs are hers. Not mine. I’m my own person. I don’t want to live by someone else’s rules.”

Draco nodded absently. What Blaise had said sounded good, but it was much easier saying something than actually doing it.

“Is this about Granger?” he asked.

Draco’s eyes snapped into focus but he didn’t reply as he stared at Blaise with a guarded expression. How the hell did he know? Who else knew?

Blaise smiled at Draco’s expression. “Don’t worry, mate, not many know. But a few of us here have caught on.”

Draco blew out a hard breath. 

“She’s a good one,” Blaise said. “Wound a little tight, but other than that, perfect. She’s got brains and looks. Not too many like that come around. And she’s more witch than most purebloods.” 

“My father will kill me,” Draco complained.

Blaise chuckled. “He’ll get over it.”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

After a restless night, and only a few hours of sleep, the following morning, Draco woke up with a new spring in his step. He’d spent half the night debating over Blaise’s words and his own feelings before arriving at a decision. He would make his own rules, and he was resolved to live by them.

At breakfast, he smiled openly at Hermione. She looked relieved and smiled back. When he began to whistle as he loaded his plate again, Pansy took notice.

“Why are you so happy?” she asked.

Draco laughed at the suspicious look in her eyes. “Why can’t I be happy? You guys walk around this school all the time like you’re high or something. Can’t I be happy, too?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him and glanced over at the Gryffindor table. “Oh, I see. Well, for the record, I’m _glad_ you’re finally happy. It took you long enough.”

Draco tried to wipe the smile off of his face. He was losing his cool, and that was not good. He didn’t want to look like Blaise or Greg, both of whom had completely lost all their cool points. 

He caught Hermione’s eye one last time, and she flashed a quick smile at him before returning to her conversation with the Weaslette. Draco smiled to himself once more, and then glanced up. Astoria was staring between him and Hermione with disdain on her face. The look she gave Draco was so cold, it sent a shiver through him. 

He wondered if she suspected something, and indeed it was confirmed that afternoon when post arrived. 

 

_Draco,_

_I hope your studies are going well and that you’re being treated properly. It would do you some good to get to know Astoria a little better. Her family has been spending some time with your mother and I, and if all goes well, we will be able to restore our family’s name very soon. Remember what I told you. We are very much looking forward to seeing you at Christmas. The Greengrass family has been invited and will be joining us. Perhaps you can use that as a conversation starter._

_I have the greatest confidence that you will fulfill your duty as a son and pure-blood. I am already so very proud of you._

_Love,_

_Father_

 

The wretched feeling of being torn between obligation and his heart’s desire returned. Draco glanced up and saw Astoria staring at him again. She smiled weakly, but he couldn’t return it. He had no doubt this was her doing. Suddenly, the room seemed too stuffy, and he couldn’t get enough air. It was suffocating. He balled up the letter, stuffed it into a pocket and left the table without saying a word. 

“Draco, where are you going?” Greg called. 

“Out,” he mumbled before making quick strides to head outside, where it was open and cold.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

That evening at dinner, he and Hermione made eye contact a few times. From the tight way she held her jaw and the way she was keeping her eyes downcast, he could tell something was wrong. She wouldn’t hold his gaze for too long, and she kept glancing over to Astoria, who seemed to be watching both of them blatantly. Draco tried not to think of the worst case scenario – that somehow Astoria had informed Hermione of their “pending” betrothal.

After dinner, he waited nervously for Hermione to arrive to find out what was the matter. When she finally showed, her eyes were bloodshot, like she’d been crying. 

He stood up from his seat slowly, anxious to find out what was wrong and to comfort her. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

She bit her lip and pulled out a square of parchment, handing it over with a trembling hand. Draco stared at it for a moment, summoning his strength. The sense of foreboding he felt was so powerful it made his knees weak. Finally, he took the parchment and began to read.

 

_Hermione,_

_I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it has just come to my attention that you may have interest in my husband-to-be. Draco and I are to be betrothed by the end of the year. This has been in the planning stages for quite some time now. I have letters from both Mr. Malfoy and my father confirming this. Also, many of Draco’s friends are aware of our plans. I respect your reputation as a war heroine, and I hope you will respect my engagement. If you do not, I’m afraid that Draco is the one who will suffer the most for it, as his father would be most disagreeable to a relationship between his son and a Muggle-born. I mean no offense, but I thought it would be in everyone’s best interest to tell you._

_Regards,_

_Astoria_

 

Anger exploded within Draco like a blasting curse. He could feel it rushing through his system, scorching any remaining good will he had for Astoria and turning it into pure hatred. 

“Hermione, this is complete and total rubbish!” He balled the note back up again.

But Hermione’s eyes were glassy with tears and she began taking steps backwards. 

“Draco, if that’s true, then why would she mention that she has proof. And why would she risk telling me that I could ask your friends if they didn’t know?”

Draco tried to breathe as he looked back at her. Every word he said from here out would be crucial; he couldn’t screw this up.

“Because…as far as Astoria, her father, and my father, are concerned, it is true. But it’s not what I want. They didn’t even include me in this discussion.”

A tear fell from her eye as she looked at him. “And did you voice your protest?”

“I—well, no. My father isn’t very receptive to different opinions. He’s set in his ways and can be very stubborn.”

Hermione nodded. “I see. So you never planned to confront him?”

“I don’t know how to! Believe me, I’ve been trying to think of a way out of this. All of my life other people have been planning out my future! They don’t ask me, they tell me what to do.”

She looked back at him with sympathy in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. That sounds horrible.”

“Believe me, Hermione, I want out of this,” he said, stepping closer.

Hermione stiffened, and the sympathy in her face changed into skepticism. “And when had you planned to tell me about this?”

Draco blinked, and his mouth turned to cotton. It was hard to form a reply when he didn’t know the answer for himself. He looked around her desperately, hoping the answer would just come to him. “I don’t know. I—I’ve been trying to sort it out for myself. I wanted to fix it before I told you.”

“There’s nothing to fix, Draco. It’s done. We’ve been fooling around for months, and yet you’ve let her go on believing this is true, which I suppose it really is because you haven’t even taken a stand against it.”

“I want to. I really do.”

“Then why haven’t you done it? Why haven’t you told Astoria or your father the truth?”

Draco brought his hands up to the bridge of his nose and pressed. “Hermione, I just explained that to you. It’s not that simple!”

“Maybe not, but if it were really important to you, you would have found a way to do it by now.”

She turned to leave, and desperation spurred Draco to rush at the door before she could open it. 

“Please, Hermione… I’m in love with you.”

She shook her head. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. And coming on the heels of Astoria’s news, I don’t really know if I believe you.”

Her words stabbed at his heart like steel prongs, and he was desperate to close the wound. He stepped closer to her. 

Hermione held out her hand to block him. “Stop… Is this why you didn’t want to have sex with me?” she asked suddenly.

Her tone and blunt words felt like a slap, but Draco recovered quickly, the words tumbling from his lips in a rush. “I do want to … you have no idea how much I want you.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “If you want me so much, then why did you tell me you weren’t ready the other day?”

“It’s not what you think, you don’t understand …”

“I don’t understand what, Draco? It’s a simple question. Why did you tell me you weren’t ready? Is it because can’t soil your pure-blood virtue with a Mudblood?”

Draco winced to hear her say the M-word, and he shook his head. “No.”

“Then why?” she demanded.

For a moment, Draco stood speechless, racking his brain for an explanation. 

She nodded, having already come to her own conclusion. “I thought you were saving yourself for a special moment, but you’re just saving yourself for a pure-blood.”

“Hermione, please listen to me,” Draco said, taking her hand into his. “I didn’t want to have sex with you until this mess got sorted out. I didn’t want our first time together to be tainted by any of this. I didn’t want … for you to regret sleeping with me.”

She sighed, and gave him a sad smile. A wave of relief washed over Draco as she stepped closer and raised her hand to touch his cheek. 

“Draco, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. And I want to believe you. But, you have to be honest with yourself. I was never your girlfriend. No one really knows about us. Not your father, or mother, or your friends. But everyone knows about your engagement to Astoria. You’ve already made your choice, and as much as it hurts… I understand. I mean, I don’t really get the irrational and bigoted business of trying to keep one’s bloodline pure, but I do understand wanting to please your parents … I hope it works out for you. Goodbye.”


	13. The Pot Calling The Kettle

Draco stayed in the Potions classroom for a long time after she left. His first instinct was to run back to Slytherin and find Astoria so he could humiliate her in front of everyone. But as he read the letter again, something became very clear. Astoria really believed what she wrote. She really believed she was about to be engaged and that another woman was consorting with her future husband. Hermione had been right. No one knew about their relationship, but everyone knew about his pending betrothal. 

He’d waited too long to make up his mind. His ignorance and fear had kept him from standing up to Lucius and his father’s antiquated beliefs and declaring his feelings for only girl he had ever truly loved. 

The next two weeks Draco felt like he’d been given the Draught of Living Death; the days moved by so slowly. It was hard to even get out of bed most mornings without feeling like a great weight had been strapped to his chest. Just looking at Hermione hurt, even though he tried not to, but his eyes always found her whenever she was near. Astoria tried to speak to him a few times, but he just rebuffed her until she gave up, however, that didn’t put an end to her staring. 

In class, he’d find himself turning his head to see if Hermione would look back at him, but she never did. She seemed to have cut him out of her heart, and he didn’t pick up the slightest hint of feeling from her. The magnetic current was dead, and he had been the one to kill it. 

After Muggle Studies one day, Mrs. Green asked him to stay after. 

He stood before her limp and tired. “Yes?”

“Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger has informed me that you two will be presenting your project before the interhouse party next week.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t help but notice that you and she appeared to be growing closer, which was very inspiring. But now, it looks as if you don’t even speak. Did something happen?”

Draco looked past her to the desk. What a nosy bitch. 

“No.”

Mrs. Green didn’t say anything for a few moments, and Draco tried to keep his face impassive and not show any irritation as he waited to be dismissed. 

“You know, my husband is a pure-blood. The Green family is one of the oldest in Great Britain.”

Draco nodded. “I know.”

She clasped her hands before her and smiled a little. “You should have seen the fuss I caused when he first brought me home.”

Draco turned his eyes from her desk to finally look at her. 

“He was their firstborn son. The oldest. And there I was, this Muggle-born who he’d fallen head over heels for. I think his mother almost had a stroke. She certainly didn’t look well when he introduced me.”

The heavy feeling in his chest returned as he thought of what his father’s reaction would be to similar news. 

“I can imagine,” he said.

“But you know, the world didn’t end. I won’t lie, it was bloody awful, and Richard had to hold my hand under the table to get me through it. But we _got_ through it. And eventually, most of his family accepted me. Even his mother. Although, between you and me, I still can’t stand her.”

Mrs. Green’s smile was warm and understanding and her words touched Draco in just the right way. She had his complete attention now. 

“Sometimes, family can make things harder than they have to be. But if you have the right person by your side, you can get through anything.” 

Draco opened his mouth. He wanted to ask her questions about how exactly her husband’s mother came to accept her, and just how long it had taken. He wanted to tell her everything about the situation with Hermione and his betrothal, but all that came out was, “Thank you, Mrs. Green.”

“Any time. Good luck with your project. I’m looking forward to it.”

Draco nodded and then turned to leave, his thoughts on getting Hermione back.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The following week came and went fast. And still, Draco couldn’t figure out how to get Hermione to talk to him. She was strong-willed and ignored him at every turn. But they had to talk soon. Their presentation was in a few days, and so were the parties. Draco wanted everything to be set right before that day.

He thought about cornering her, but knew it could backfire and end up with him missing an appendage. There was the option of standing on his chair in the Great Hall and declaring his love for her in front of everyone, but that could go wrong in so many ways, not the least of which involved her insulting him and running away. Plus, he doubted that Astoria would stand for that. He’d probably end up suffering both of their wraths. 

He became convinced that the only way to get through to Hermione was through a letter. He intended to explain everything, from his exclusion in the betrothal planning, to his developing feelings for her, and finally to his slow awakening from prejudice and duty to love. But just as he rose to head to his dorm to write it all out, Theo stood and held up a familiar piece of parchment. 

“All right everyone, the final list of attendees is done. As you all know, this party is private, and only for eighth, seventh, and select sixth years. So mum’s the word.”

Some of the younger students made disapproving noises.

Theo waved them off. “Don’t worry. Your time will come soon enough.” 

The picture of both Astoria and Hermione at the after party playing kissing games suddenly seemed like a bad idea. Draco approached Theo, pulling him to the side,

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Yeah, sure, Draco. What is it?”

Draco looked around, and when he didn’t see her, he leaned in to whisper. “Can you take Astoria off the list?”

Theo looked shocked. “I can’t. She’s a Slytherin sixth year. It’s automatic.”

“Please, Theo. Trust me. If she’s here, it’ll put a real damper on the party.”

Theo eyes lit up as if just now comprehending something. “Oh! You don’t have to worry about that. Granger declined. Said she couldn’t come.”

“What?”

Theo shrugged. 

“Why?”

Theo looked around before speaking. “Honestly?”

“Yes, tell me.”

“Pansy and Milli think it’s because it’s too public. Although it’s a private party, a lot of people will be here. And if she’s caught kissing someone, it would get back to Weasley, and he would probably would have a fit.”

Draco pulled back as if doused with cold water. “Weasley? She’s not seeing him!”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, of course I’m sure!” Draco said angrily.

Theo grimaced. “Oh, I thought you two were just messing around … you know on the side. So you really like her, huh?”

“What makes you think she’s seeing Weasley?” Draco demanded, ignoring Theo’s question.

“Well, you remember Skeeter wrote an entire column about them after the war. _Through the Fire_ , or something like that.” 

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s Skeeter. She’s hardly a reliable source.”

“Yeah, but think about it. She never reported that they broke up. That’s the kind of drama Skeeter lives for.”

Heat rushed to Draco’s face as he stood before Theo in shocked embarrassment, the sting of betrayal and shame blinding his vision. Hermione had been Weasley’s all along, and she’d had the nerve to be angry with him? She’d played him for a fool! 

Anger and indignation sent him walking briskly out the door and up the stairs, straight to the Gryffindor Tower.


	14. Laying It On The Line

Draco exchanged heated words with the Fat Lady as she berated him for having the audacity to approach, let alone ask for entry. Finally, a younger student opened the door, and Draco wasted no time in demanding that she go fetch Hermione. Several Gryffindors stood by observing as she came to the entrance to greet him. 

Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her out.

“What are you doing?” she protested.

“We need to talk,” he said gruffly.

“Fine, but let go of me!”

He scowled but dropped her wrist while she followed him to the staircase. He kept his eyes on her as the stairs shifted, turning away from her only to lead her down to the dungeon. He unlocked the door and waited for her to cross the threshold. Once she did, he slammed the door shut behind them, and Hermione jumped. 

“What do you want, Draco?”

“Do I look like a fool to you?” he asked.

“What?”

“Do I look stupid? Huh?”

“No, what are you on about?” she demanded impatiently.

Draco shook his head, still in disbelief he had just assumed the best about her. “You and Weasley …”

Hermione’s eyes shifted away from his and took on a sad quality that confirmed everything Draco thought he knew. He slammed his hand into the wall next to her head, making her jump in fear. 

“So it’s true then? You’re still seeing him?” 

“No, I’m not,” she said. 

“Skeeter did a report on you two at the end of the war!” 

“Draco, Skeeter reports on a lot of things.”

“Yeah, she loves a juicy story …”

“Right,” Hermione said. 

“So tell me then, why she never reported on you two breaking up?” he asked. “It wouldn’t happen to be because you haven’t, would it?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. We did break up.” 

“So you say, but I bet if I were to owl Weasley right now, he’d tell me something different.”

“Draco, Ron and I broke up this summer. We tried to make a go at it, and it didn’t work out. So we decided we were better off as friends. No one knows we split because we haven’t told anyone. We haven’t figured out how to!”

Draco stepped back and began a slow clap. “Bravo! What a convincing performance. Almost as good as mine! Only, at least I own up to my mistakes. You walk around, pointing fingers at others, when you’re doing the exact same thing. I never took you for a hypocrite, Hermione.” 

“You have no right to be angry with me! This is completely different. You’re engaged to be married and fooling around on her with me!” 

“I told you that’s not even official. It was just talk!”

“Talk that you’re not disputing! If anyone asked me if I were still seeing Ron, I’d tell them no. But no one has asked, they just assume we are.”

“That’s weak, Hermione. You may not be claiming him as a boyfriend, but you’re not denying it either. It’s the same thing.” 

“It’s not. I’m not talking about it because I’m sick of all of the attention. For God’s sake, there was an entire page dedicated to our relationship last year. And that was just the beginning. I just want things to be normal. I don’t want everything I do to be scrutinized. But you … you’re afraid of what your father will think. You’re willing to cast me aside so you can have a proper pure-blood wife!”

“I don’t want a proper pure-blood wife. I want you!”

“And who else would you say that to?”

Draco extended his hands by his side. “Name anyone. I’ll tell them. I swear I will.”

“Your father?”

“Yes.”

“Your mother?”

“Of course.”

“Astoria.”

“I can’t _wait_ to tell her!”

Tears filled Hermione’s eyes as she stood staring at him, and then she picked Draco’s heart off of the floor with a simple smile.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too.”

He stepped towards her, closing the space between them, and leaned in to rest his forehead on hers. The golden flecks in her eyes seemed brighter than ever. 

“I want you,” he whispered again. 

She made a small noise that sounded somewhere between a sigh and a whimper and then reached up with both hands to hold his face as she raised herself on her tiptoes to kiss him with everything she had. Draco took it all, closing his eyes and wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her flush against his body. They slowly backed up hitting a few desks on along the way. When they finally reached the entrance to the living quarters. Draco went slack against the door, and Hermione practically climbed on top of him.

“Do you really want to do this?” he asked.

“Yes … very much. Do you?”

“More than anything,” he said, muttering the password and fumbling for the doorknob. At last it twisted. Their combined weight pushed them through the door. Draco stumbled back, trying to hold onto Hermione as their lips remained locked, until they crossed the threshold to the bedroom and his legs hit the edge of the bed. 

His knees buckled and the next thing he knew, he was falling with Hermione onto the bed. The kiss broke and she pulled back to smile at him. Draco reached up to pull her down again, and she took hold of his wrists, stilling his arms and slowly lowering them down by his sides. He watched as her hands returned to her body, lifting up her jumper.

He licked his lips, his eyes rest on two lovely mounds framed perfectly by a simple white bra. His breath came faster as she behind her back to undo the clasp, letting the straps slowly fall as she pulled the material away. 

She was even more beautiful than in all of his fantasies. Her nipples were brown, and seemed to recognize him, waiting pert and attentive, waiting for his touch. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Draco reached up and filled his hands with her breasts. Hermione ground against his pelvis in approval, and he sat up as far as he could to taste one of them. Her skin was hot, and he licked and sucked until she was twisting over him in approval. He gave equal attention to the other one as she threaded her hands through his hair, pushing his face against her. The longer he tasted her, the harder he got until he was straining in his pants. 

With a quick and sudden movement, he stood with her still straddling him and then turned around so that when they fell, this time he would be on top of her. Soft mews and moans proceeded as his mouth and hands moved down from her breasts to her stomach. She assisted him in peeling off her jogging bottoms and knickers, and lifted her bum anxiously even as she continued to move her hips. He hastily pulled the rest down, snatching the fabric away from her legs and throwing it to the floor. In the next second he buried his tongue between her legs, smelling, tasting, drinking her in. The taste of her was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It was sweet and bitter and distinctly her. And Gods! The sounds she was making. It was driving him crazy. 

“Aaaaah,” Hermione cried out as her legs wrapped around his head and she bucked against his mouth. He didn’t know whether he was doing it right, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t doing it wrong.

Draco groaned as he continued to lap at her, his cock aching. 

”I’m ready,” he heard her gasp breathlessly from above. “I’m ready now, Draco… please.”

Her legs fell from around his face, and he arose, half stumbling, half bracing himself as he pulled his shirt over his head and scrambled to push his trousers and pants down over his erection. He was aware of her eyes on him as his cock sprang free. 

Slowly, he lowered himself on top of her, using every bit of his strength not to push forward and bury himself inside of her. But his arms were shaking from nerves and the weight of holding himself up to keep from touching her. 

“It’s all right, lie on top of me,” she encouraged, spreading herself once again to wrap her legs around his waist. 

Draco could feel her heat against his cock. He groaned as she keened, pressing herself against him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.

“You won’t,” she said, grinding her hips against him. 

His cock twitched to feel her warmth. Merlin, she was wet. He moved slowly, sliding in her wetness as he searched for her entrance. Hermione moved again, and he slipped down until her heat was wrapped around him. They both groaned in unison as her throbbing heat engulfed him. Her fingers dug into his skin for a moment and then relaxed. Draco held himself perfectly still, savoring it, until she slowly twisted herself against him, taking in the rest of him. 

“Oh, Hermione,” he moaned. He’d never felt anything like it. Nothing he’d ever done to himself or fantasized about could have prepared himself for this. He wanted to stay here, immersed inside of her for as long as he could. But then she was writhing again, and instinct told him to move with her, to give her everything he could as she moved against him. 

So he drew back, and as much it ached to pull out, he withdrew a little, was pleased to hear a whimper of desperation. His eyes took her in, and he was spellbound to see her curls wild and spread against the bed, and her eyes, half-lidded, and her mouth slightly open. He drove back into her, and shuddered from the pleasure the friction created. Again and again, he repeated it, plunging into her and pulling back until he had worked himself into a frenzy. 

He’d never seen a girl orgasm before, but he knew she was close because he’d never heard Hermione sound like this. Her moaning was much louder now, and her fingers were digging into his skin. He needed to see her eyes, watch them light up as she reached her climax, hoping he’d be able to keep his own eyes open as he arrived with her. 

He looked down at her. Her eyes were clenched shut, and her head was turning from side to side frantically. 

“Look at me,” he panted. “Hermione … look at me.”

When she opened her eyes, a fire ignited within him. They had to come together, they had to. He couldn’t come before her, he had to hold it off until he saw it written all over her face. But his own orgasm was building, and it had a mind of its own, breaking his restraint and driving his hips. And then she clenched around his cock, and her hands dug harder as she cried out. That did it. Draco felt his balls tighten and the force of an exploding geyser shook him as he came inside her.

Slick with sweat, they held each other. Draco closed his eyes and inhaled the mixture of her perfume and their sex as he listened to her breathe.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The next few days passed in a blur, the most blissful blur of Draco's life. He and Hermione were both deeply involved in all of the preparations for the party, and they had fun practicing for their presentation as well. He hardly had time to think about what his parents or Astoria would say once he announced that he didn’t intend to go through the engagement. And anytime he began to brood about it, the thought of a life with Hermione would always lift him out of his doubt. Her faith and trust in him made all the difference.

In the blink of an eye, he and Hermione were speaking in front of the Great Hall, which was decorated in every House color. The ceiling was charmed to look like dusk, and streamers and balloons of red, gold, green, silver, yellow, black, and blue and bronze were hanging from every pillar. The audience seemed to enjoy trying to figure out how Madam Morgana’s perfume ended up in Muggle hands. And afterwards, they all listened attentively as Draco and Hermione explained the various contributions and cross-influence of both Muggle and wizarding society. It was so quiet; one might have thought a Silencing charm had been placed upon the room. When they finished, the silence continued. Draco turned to Hermione with a stony face, fearing they had bored everyone into a slumber, but within seconds, applause erupted. The party started shortly afterwards, and so many people— McGonagall, Mrs. Green, and even Greg, Pansy and Blaise— approached to congratulate them.

The Snape bangers and mash was a hit, as were the Creevey crème brûlée, Weasley roasted lamb, Burbage cheese broccoli, and Crabbe cauldron cakes. And there was plenty of interhouse mingling, thanks to the Weird Sisters, who played their greatest hits. The dance floor filled quickly as the ceiling changed from sunset to a moonlit sky. 

“Would you like to dance, Hermione?” Draco asked. 

“Why I’d love to, Draco” she said with a smile. 

It didn’t go unnoticed by Draco that many people in the room were watching them closely, including Astoria, who was glaring at both of them from the corner of the room. He almost felt sorry for her, but he put it out of his mind as he took Hermione’s hand. Both his stomach and heart were full as he twirled her around and pulled her close to him. 

“I really do love you,” he whispered.

“I know,” she said, stroking his back. “I love you, too.”

“You know, after tonight, everyone will know about us,” he said. “Do you think Potter and Weasley will be angry?”

“Hmm, I think Harry will be shocked, but he trusts my judgment. Now Ron is an entirely different matter.” Her body shook with a chuckle and she sighed. “He’ll probably be upset at first, but he never stays mad for too long.”

Draco smiled and closed his eyes, inhaling her perfume. Suddenly, Hermione’s hand stopped caressing his back and her body tensed. He stopped swaying to the music, waiting for her to speak.

“Draco …”

“Yes?”

“If word does get out tonight that we’re together, aren’t you worried about what your parents might do?”

“A little, but…” he said, drawing back to look at her, “I know eventually, they’ll get over it. And if they don’t, it doesn’t matter. Not as long as I have you. We’ll get through it together.”

Hermione smiled, her eyes becoming glassy. “Yes. Yes we will.”

Draco pulled her in closer against him, burying his face into her curls. It didn’t matter who was watching them now. The world was his for the taking again. The future was wide open and full of possibilities. And with Hermione standing by his side, Draco knew he could do anything.

**The End**


End file.
